left on the counter and poured herself a cup of black coffee. He hadn’t thrown a snit at the dragon. He hadn’t imagined it was a dig directed at him.
Perhaps he was not quite so touchy and antisocial as she would have thought he was. Or perhaps . . .
Kyrie looked him over. He smelled of soap and her shampoo, and he looked far less dangerous than he had. His black curls were damp from the shower, dripping down his back. His expression was just bewildered enough to make him look younger the he normally did. Even the fact that he was frowning into his coffee cup didn’t make him look threatening, just puzzled.
He looked at her, and the frown became less intense, but the eyebrows remained low over the blue eyes, which looked like they were trying to figure out something really difficult. Like the meaning of the universe. “Why?” he said. “I’m dangerous.” He shrugged, as if he hadn’t said exactly what he meant to say. “I mean, it’s dangerous to hang out with me. You saw . . . my apartment.” He took a sip of coffee, fast, desperately, as if trying to make up for words that didn’t come out quite right. Then choked, coughed, and set the cup down to cover his mouth. “Why did you let me in here?” he asked.
Kyrie could have said many things. That his apartment was one of the reasons. Who would send him out there naked, in a car that looked, clearly, like it had been broken into? Who would send him out into the night with nowhere to stay, no safe place to crash?
But before she spoke, she realized that there would be many people—perhaps most people—who would do that. She’d met them often enough, growing up. The families who took foster children but didn’t want them associating with their real children; the children at school who shunned you because you lived in a less than savory part of town; the teachers who assumed you were dumb and hopeless because you didn’t live with your blood family.
Had she done the same with Tom, in shunning him because of his appearance? His drug habit? But no. She’d been justified in that. Those were things he could and should control. However, this trouble . . . Well, perhaps he’d brought it on himself. Perhaps at the root of it all was a drug deal gone bad, or the theft of something valuable.
She couldn’t imagine anyone stealing anything valuable from a triad composed of dragon shapeshifters. She would have to assume Tom was brasher, and perhaps braver, than she. But she didn’t know him well enough to rule it out, either.
And again, she had had plenty of experience with his type: the alcoholic foster parents, the doping foster brothers. You gave them chance and chance and chance, and they never improved, never got any better. They just told you more and more lies and got bolder and bolder.
She didn’t know what to say and she couldn’t guess in which category Tom would fall. So, instead, she stuck to the need at hand. That had always seen her through. When in trouble, stick to the need at hand.
“I need you to help me bandage my arm and disinfect my back,” she said. And not sure why his eyes grew so wide at this request, added, “Please?”
He nodded and shrugged. “Of course,” he said. His eyes remained wide, as if he were either very surprised or very skeptical. “Where do you keep the first-aid supplies?”
“They’re in the bathroom,” Kyrie told him. “Behind the mirror.”
Tom headed that way. It was a relief to have something to do—to have something to think of. He’d been sitting there, feeling miserable, drinking his coffee, wondering what was the best way to leave.
The bathroom was still full of steam—but the smell was indefinably different there. Not just the soap and shampoo he’d used also, but something else . . . Something he could neither define nor explain. It smelled like Kyrie. That was all he could say. It was a familiar smell and he realized he’d smelled it around her even under the layers of odors at the
Perhaps he was not quite so touchy and antisocial as she would have thought he was. Or perhaps . . .
Kyrie looked him over. He smelled of soap and her shampoo, and he looked far less dangerous than he had. His black curls were damp from the shower, dripping down his back. His expression was just bewildered enough to make him look younger the he normally did. Even the fact that he was frowning into his coffee cup didn’t make him look threatening, just puzzled.
He looked at her, and the frown became less intense, but the eyebrows remained low over the blue eyes, which looked like they were trying to figure out something really difficult. Like the meaning of the universe. “Why?” he said. “I’m dangerous.” He shrugged, as if he hadn’t said exactly what he meant to say. “I mean, it’s dangerous to hang out with me. You saw . . . my apartment.” He took a sip of coffee, fast, desperately, as if trying to make up for words that didn’t come out quite right. Then choked, coughed, and set the cup down to cover his mouth. “Why did you let me in here?” he asked.
Kyrie could have said many things. That his apartment was one of the reasons. Who would send him out there naked, in a car that looked, clearly, like it had been broken into? Who would send him out into the night with nowhere to stay, no safe place to crash?
But before she spoke, she realized that there would be many people—perhaps most people—who would do that. She’d met them often enough, growing up. The families who took foster children but didn’t want them associating with their real children; the children at school who shunned you because you lived in a less than savory part of town; the teachers who assumed you were dumb and hopeless because you didn’t live with your blood family.
Had she done the same with Tom, in shunning him because of his appearance? His drug habit? But no. She’d been justified in that. Those were things he could and should control. However, this trouble . . . Well, perhaps he’d brought it on himself. Perhaps at the root of it all was a drug deal gone bad, or the theft of something valuable.
She couldn’t imagine anyone stealing anything valuable from a triad composed of dragon shapeshifters. She would have to assume Tom was brasher, and perhaps braver, than she. But she didn’t know him well enough to rule it out, either.
And again, she had had plenty of experience with his type: the alcoholic foster parents, the doping foster brothers. You gave them chance and chance and chance, and they never improved, never got any better. They just told you more and more lies and got bolder and bolder.
She didn’t know what to say and she couldn’t guess in which category Tom would fall. So, instead, she stuck to the need at hand. That had always seen her through. When in trouble, stick to the need at hand.
“I need you to help me bandage my arm and disinfect my back,” she said. And not sure why his eyes grew so wide at this request, added, “Please?”
He nodded and shrugged. “Of course,” he said. His eyes remained wide, as if he were either very surprised or very skeptical. “Where do you keep the first-aid supplies?”
“They’re in the bathroom,” Kyrie told him. “Behind the mirror.”
Tom headed that way. It was a relief to have something to do—to have something to think of. He’d been sitting there, feeling miserable, drinking his coffee, wondering what was the best way to leave.
The bathroom was still full of steam—but the smell was indefinably different there. Not just the soap and shampoo he’d used also, but something else . . . Something he could neither define nor explain. It smelled like Kyrie. That was all he could say. It was a familiar smell and he realized he’d smelled it around her even under the layers of odors at the
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