Page 85
Story: City of Smoke and Brimstone
As soon as they hit her elbows, she stepped away from him.
“Baby, I’m not finished?—”
“I can take it from here,” she said, clutching the front of her suit to her breasts as she turned around to face him. “You need time to get cleaned up, too.” Neither of them had discussed that they’d be taking separate showers—it was a decision that sort of just…happened. A silent assumption they’d both made the minute they had walked up the stairs. And Loren didn’t know how to feel about it. The close moment they’d shared outside of the hospital, when they’d clung to each other on the cold ground, was gone, and now…now, they were back to this.
He simply stared at her, conflicted. And the awkward way that he was holding his hand…yep, it was definitely bothering him.
“I’ll be fine, Darien. I’m sure the serum is still in my system, so you can take a few minutes to yourself.” The gods knew he needed it—a break from having to watch her like a hawk. When he refused to budge, she added softly, “Go.”
But he still wouldn’t move. “You’ll make sure to come and get me if something feels off?”
“Yes.”
He scanned her from head to toes, as if searching for injuries he might have missed. Of course there were none—nothing escaped this man. “Promise me,” he said.
“I promise.”
He nodded once. And then he moved toward the door, his eyes still fixed on her. “Take off your talisman, please.” He left, shutting the door behind him.
Only after he was gone did she realize he might have been stalling to give her an opportunity to invite him to shower with her. But it was too late now, and even if she wanted him in here, it was true that he deserved time to himself. If he stayed in here with her, there was no way he would allow himself to relax.
Not that there was even the slightest chance he’d be doing that on his own, either. There was no winning right now.
She yanked her suit down to her thighs with difficulty, and then sat down on the edge of the soaker tub to do the rest, taking off the scraps of clothes underneath—ripped, burnt, and filthy—too. Everything would need to be thrown out. She unclasped her talisman, placed it on the counter by the sink, and then stepped into the shower.
Her skin was so grimy and raw, the soap and hot water literally stung. She scrubbed every inch of her body and washed her hair twice, being careful not to overly disturb the bandages on her back. Darien had told her they’d be fine while she showered, and the tape he’d used to adhere them wouldn’t come off that easily, but she’d rather not risk it.
When she got out, she wrapped herself in a towel and brushed her teeth, beyond happy to finally feel clean again.
Her hair dripped down her back as she crept across the hallway and into her bedroom. The salt lamp was glowing on the nightstand—she had a feeling Darien had turned it on. She heard a few of the others speaking downstairs, along with the running of water in multiple bathrooms.
She put on a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt. As soon as she had her socks on, she grabbed her hairbrush and fought through the knots before sectioning her hair down the middle and styling it into two braids. The cold weather would be extrabrutal with wet hair, but she didn’t feel like wasting time with a blow dryer. Besides, she would still have to go in the sauna at some point, which should help it dry faster.
As she grabbed her bag and began packing her folded clothes, a misty silhouette crept out of her shadow on lethargic paws.
“Hi, Singer!” she exclaimed with a whisper, the dog peering up at her with pouty eyes. “I’ve missed you, buddy.” He wagged his tail. The fact that he was awake was a good sign. Familiars were usually absent and unresponsive when their people felt weak or sick.
She packed the last of her belongings and zipped up the pockets before kneeling to give Singer some attention. He accepted every scratch with contented panting, his tail swishing across the floor.
“Alright, buddy, let’s go downstairs,” she told him. He stayed by her side the whole walk there.
She found the others—everyone except Dallas, who was still showering, her destroyed wings likely hindering her speed—deep in discussion at the kitchen table, all of them cleaned up and dressed in normal clothes.
Loren wasn’t surprised to find that Darien had beaten her here. He was squeaky clean and dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt, his damp hair slicked back. He already had his combat boots on, one foot braced on a chair he’d pulled out from the table, an elbow resting on his propped-up knee. When those steel-blue eyes of his flicked up to meet hers, a strand of inky hair hanging in his face, she pulled her gaze away from him, not wanting to distract him from what was evidently an important conversation.
“As much as you don’t want to admit it, Darien,” Ivy was saying, “you can’t be multiple places at once. You need to get Loren—” She abruptly glanced at her, noticing her quiet entry, and finished, “Out of the city and back home.”
“They shouldn’t go by themselves,” Lace said. “We should make sure we’re split into strong enough groups, in case anything happens.”
Jack chimed in. “But one Darien equals like ten of us.”
“I want you to go with Darien,” Ivy said to her husband.
He straightened in his chair as if Ivy had tased him.“What?No chance!” He shook his head, slicing his hands through the air. “There’sno chanceI’m leaving you, Ivy?—”
“Yes,Jack,” she said firmly. “You are. You’re still feeling dizzy?—”
“I’m fine right now.”
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