Burning Dawn
Page 30
“No.”
“‘Naughty girl’?”
“Not even close.”
“‘Honey bear sugar pop’?”
His smile was a slow bloom, revealing dimples that dazzled her.
She sputtered for a moment. “You...you... Thane, you have dimples.” As if he didn’t know! They were more adorable than a panda holding a baby kitten.
“I do?”
Wait. He didn’t know? “You really do.”
The dimples made another appearance. She shivered, suddenly aware that sweat had made her pj’s cling to her skin. Her aching, tingling skin.
“Do you like dimples?” he asked.
Way too much. “Sure.” She pushed to her feet, determined to put a little distance between them. “Well, I had better go and get my snooze on. You know how important beauty z’s can be.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. His gaze raked over her, and he scowled. “Go, then.”
O-kay. Total mood shift. Again. For no reason!
She flicked her hair over one shoulder. “Just in case you missed it, the entire point of this exercise was to drive home the fact that everyone has weeds in their life. Including you. You need to yank them out—before it’s too late.”
* * *
THE NEXT EVENING, Thane had several boxes of chocolate delivered to Elin’s room.
Of course, he immediately had to deal with sender’s remorse. What was he doing? Courting her?
Hardly!
But he couldn’t get her and her parting words out of his mind. What weeds did she have? He had to know.
He stomped through his suite, stripped when he entered the bathroom, and ducked under the shower spray.
His kind didn’t need to bathe. Robes kept them clean from top to bottom, removing everything but a stain on the soul. Or, as Elin would say, the weeds. But there were times, like now, when he needed to feel the hot slide of water against his skin.
His entire world was being turned upside down.
Taunting Kendra yesterday might have given him a measure of satisfaction—after the first burst of discontent—but it hadn’t lasted long, and guilt had taken its place. A guilt that had later proved to be kindling for the rage constantly brewing inside him, stoking it higher and hotter. Why should he feel guilty for doling out like for like?
Because Kendra, too, must have weeds?
He didn’t want to think about that.
Instead, he pondered Elin, with her sweet smile and terrible cake.
She didn’t know it, but she created desserts to keep her husband’s memory alive, not because she enjoyed doing it, and certainly not because she had a talent for it. He grinned as he recalled the shock of having salted strawberries, eggshell, and an overload of vanilla on his tongue. He’d tried to hide his reaction, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but she’d been so good-natured about the whole thing, he’d just had to tease her.
Him. Teasing a female. It was inconceivable!
He only hoped she let go of her “dream” of baking while making countless desserts for the bar’s patrons.
If—when—she did, he could put her in charge of the gardens. He could even help her. Shockingly enough, he’d liked having his hands in the dirt and the sun on his skin. Not so shockingly, he’d liked having a beautiful woman at his side, his muscles straining, his mind focused on a single goal.
What he hadn’t liked was Elin’s casual disregard afterward. When she’d stood and announced she was leaving him, he’d wanted to curse. More and more, parting with her required an inner strength he didn’t possess. And yet, she always seemed to do it with ease.
He shut off the water with more force than necessary, then tugged on a new robe. The slam of a door caught his attention. He drew a sword of fire as he marched from the stall.
Bjorn, who had been absent longer than ever before, according to Xerxes, made it only a few feet away from the entrance before dropping to his knees and bowing his head. Thane dismissed the sword and rushed over. Xerxes was there a second later, and together, they helped their friend to his feet.
“Bathroom,” Bjorn croaked.
Acting as crutches, they led him to where he wanted to go and eased him to the tiled floor. Bjorn crawled to the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach, reminding Thane of Xerxes’s reaction to a sexual encounter.
Thane held his hair out of the line of fire, hating the fact that there was nothing he could do to alleviate the male’s discomfort. He met Xerxes’s gaze. Did he look as bleak and grim as the warrior?
“What happens to you when you leave us?” Thane whispered.
Silence. Expected.
Xerxes washed Bjorn’s face with a cool rag. “No matter what, we’re here for you.”
Again, silence.
Thane guided his friend to bed. A single, sharp breath stopped him from pulling up the covers.
“Wings,” Bjorn said, and Thane helped the warrior to his stomach.
He smoothed dark locks of hair from the male’s face, and looked over the white-gold wings. There was no sign of—
Foul play. There. A wound on each side of the thick, corded arch, crusted with black, oozing a slight trickle of blood. As if clamps, or metal claws, had held him in place.
Rage returned in a flash. Wherever it was Bjorn went, he suffered. Something had to be done, and soon.
Together, Thane and Xerxes cleaned and bandaged him. They sat at his sides, talking about anything, everything, and absolutely nothing until some of the tension drained from the warrior.
“Do you remember the time you had to cloak your wings with an air pocket and walk through the streets of New York, visible to all as you tracked a demon-possessed heiress?” Xerxes said to Bjorn. “You were approached by three scouts hoping to make you the next supermodel. Had it been me, I would have had five scouts approach me. Scars are so this season.”
The warrior’s mouth twitched at one side.
“Maybe,” Thane said. “But little-girl cherub curls and bad attitudes beat scars any day, which means I would have had ten scouts after me.”
As they argued amicably about who was more attractive, Bjorn relaxed enough to drift off to sleep.
Thane and Xerxes shared a look rife with tension, all hint of good humor gone.
“I’ll stay with him,” Xerxes whispered. “I’ll take care of him.”
“As will I.”
“No.” Pale hair danced over the male’s wide shoulders as he shook his head. “The other Sent Ones are due to arrive. You’re needed downstairs.”
“‘Naughty girl’?”
“Not even close.”
“‘Honey bear sugar pop’?”
His smile was a slow bloom, revealing dimples that dazzled her.
She sputtered for a moment. “You...you... Thane, you have dimples.” As if he didn’t know! They were more adorable than a panda holding a baby kitten.
“I do?”
Wait. He didn’t know? “You really do.”
The dimples made another appearance. She shivered, suddenly aware that sweat had made her pj’s cling to her skin. Her aching, tingling skin.
“Do you like dimples?” he asked.
Way too much. “Sure.” She pushed to her feet, determined to put a little distance between them. “Well, I had better go and get my snooze on. You know how important beauty z’s can be.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. His gaze raked over her, and he scowled. “Go, then.”
O-kay. Total mood shift. Again. For no reason!
She flicked her hair over one shoulder. “Just in case you missed it, the entire point of this exercise was to drive home the fact that everyone has weeds in their life. Including you. You need to yank them out—before it’s too late.”
* * *
THE NEXT EVENING, Thane had several boxes of chocolate delivered to Elin’s room.
Of course, he immediately had to deal with sender’s remorse. What was he doing? Courting her?
Hardly!
But he couldn’t get her and her parting words out of his mind. What weeds did she have? He had to know.
He stomped through his suite, stripped when he entered the bathroom, and ducked under the shower spray.
His kind didn’t need to bathe. Robes kept them clean from top to bottom, removing everything but a stain on the soul. Or, as Elin would say, the weeds. But there were times, like now, when he needed to feel the hot slide of water against his skin.
His entire world was being turned upside down.
Taunting Kendra yesterday might have given him a measure of satisfaction—after the first burst of discontent—but it hadn’t lasted long, and guilt had taken its place. A guilt that had later proved to be kindling for the rage constantly brewing inside him, stoking it higher and hotter. Why should he feel guilty for doling out like for like?
Because Kendra, too, must have weeds?
He didn’t want to think about that.
Instead, he pondered Elin, with her sweet smile and terrible cake.
She didn’t know it, but she created desserts to keep her husband’s memory alive, not because she enjoyed doing it, and certainly not because she had a talent for it. He grinned as he recalled the shock of having salted strawberries, eggshell, and an overload of vanilla on his tongue. He’d tried to hide his reaction, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but she’d been so good-natured about the whole thing, he’d just had to tease her.
Him. Teasing a female. It was inconceivable!
He only hoped she let go of her “dream” of baking while making countless desserts for the bar’s patrons.
If—when—she did, he could put her in charge of the gardens. He could even help her. Shockingly enough, he’d liked having his hands in the dirt and the sun on his skin. Not so shockingly, he’d liked having a beautiful woman at his side, his muscles straining, his mind focused on a single goal.
What he hadn’t liked was Elin’s casual disregard afterward. When she’d stood and announced she was leaving him, he’d wanted to curse. More and more, parting with her required an inner strength he didn’t possess. And yet, she always seemed to do it with ease.
He shut off the water with more force than necessary, then tugged on a new robe. The slam of a door caught his attention. He drew a sword of fire as he marched from the stall.
Bjorn, who had been absent longer than ever before, according to Xerxes, made it only a few feet away from the entrance before dropping to his knees and bowing his head. Thane dismissed the sword and rushed over. Xerxes was there a second later, and together, they helped their friend to his feet.
“Bathroom,” Bjorn croaked.
Acting as crutches, they led him to where he wanted to go and eased him to the tiled floor. Bjorn crawled to the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach, reminding Thane of Xerxes’s reaction to a sexual encounter.
Thane held his hair out of the line of fire, hating the fact that there was nothing he could do to alleviate the male’s discomfort. He met Xerxes’s gaze. Did he look as bleak and grim as the warrior?
“What happens to you when you leave us?” Thane whispered.
Silence. Expected.
Xerxes washed Bjorn’s face with a cool rag. “No matter what, we’re here for you.”
Again, silence.
Thane guided his friend to bed. A single, sharp breath stopped him from pulling up the covers.
“Wings,” Bjorn said, and Thane helped the warrior to his stomach.
He smoothed dark locks of hair from the male’s face, and looked over the white-gold wings. There was no sign of—
Foul play. There. A wound on each side of the thick, corded arch, crusted with black, oozing a slight trickle of blood. As if clamps, or metal claws, had held him in place.
Rage returned in a flash. Wherever it was Bjorn went, he suffered. Something had to be done, and soon.
Together, Thane and Xerxes cleaned and bandaged him. They sat at his sides, talking about anything, everything, and absolutely nothing until some of the tension drained from the warrior.
“Do you remember the time you had to cloak your wings with an air pocket and walk through the streets of New York, visible to all as you tracked a demon-possessed heiress?” Xerxes said to Bjorn. “You were approached by three scouts hoping to make you the next supermodel. Had it been me, I would have had five scouts approach me. Scars are so this season.”
The warrior’s mouth twitched at one side.
“Maybe,” Thane said. “But little-girl cherub curls and bad attitudes beat scars any day, which means I would have had ten scouts after me.”
As they argued amicably about who was more attractive, Bjorn relaxed enough to drift off to sleep.
Thane and Xerxes shared a look rife with tension, all hint of good humor gone.
“I’ll stay with him,” Xerxes whispered. “I’ll take care of him.”
“As will I.”
“No.” Pale hair danced over the male’s wide shoulders as he shook his head. “The other Sent Ones are due to arrive. You’re needed downstairs.”
