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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

When I first wake, I’m not sure where I am. I slept so deep and so hard that my brain is lagging behind my body by a good ten minutes. It’s not until I roll over and see the man sleeping beside me that I remember.

Leo is awake. Barely. He winks a dark brown eye at me and lifts his head off the pillow, lips curling into a sleepy, ruthlessly sexy smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I reply, even though the brightness of the light peeking through the blinds suggests it’s closer to afternoon.

He pulls me into a cuddly spoon, and he’s so warm and relaxed that I have to fight to keep from dozing off again.

Like a toddler, I wiggle out of his hold and flip to face him. “I don’t want to fall back to sleep.”

He stretches and glances over his shoulder. “Why not?” He gives me a lopsided grin. “It’s only ten-thirty.”

“Ten-thirty?!”

“You have somewhere you need to be?”

“I have a shark-wrestling match at eleven.” And a class at 1:00, but that’s eons away .

He laughs and wraps his arm around me again, luring me in. “Well, then you’ve got at least another fifteen minutes to spend with me.”

I stretch a leg over his and rest my head on his arm, content to simply look at him.

His hair is a hot, sexy mess and his five-o’clock shadow is thicker and darker than it was just eight hours ago.

He’s extraordinarily beautiful for a man who just woke up.

I’m sure I don’t look half as good. My skin feels sticky and caked with the makeup I didn’t think to remove.

I sweep firm fingers under my eyes, hoping they don’t look bruised.

“You’re beautiful,” Leo whispers, stilling my hand. I let him kiss me even though I have morning breath and a cottony mouth.

As we settle back on the pillow, he combs his fingers through my tousled hair. “You’re a natural blond, aren’t you?”

I nod. I love the color of my hair, but I’m ambivalent about the other features that are part of the natural blond package: pale lashes and eyebrows. And freckles. “My father’s maternal line is Norwegian.”

“So you’re a Viking?”

I grin. “Yep. I’m a Valkyrie .”

His laugh is deep and warm and full of affection. “And you’re here to take me to Valhalla?”

“Are you worthy?”

“Not yet.”

That’s up for debate. I saw how he handled Zander.

He twirls a yellow strand around his finger. “You know what I thought of, the first time I saw you?”

I shake my head, even though it was a rhetorical question.

“Where I grew up, we’d get mist on summer mornings that would settle in the valleys between the hills.

” His gaze goes distant. “And when the sun came up, it would shine on it and turn it this silvery sort of yellow.” He comes back to me, his eyes focused on the lock he’s playing with.

“And make it sparkle, just like your hair.”

Unable to find words, I thank him with a kiss.

Never has a man said something like that to me before.

Zander’s favorite was, “Damn, babe, you look hot.” Other guys, when they’d try to pick me up at bars and parties, might tell me I have pretty eyes or a sweet smile.

Nice, but unoriginal. Yet here’s Leo Hawthorn, comparing me to a childhood memory, and to the beauty of nature.

He tucks the silvery-yellow tresses behind my ear and sits up. “You hungry?”

I confess that I am.

“Take your time getting up. I’m gonna start the coffee and fix us something to eat.”

He pulls on his t-shirt and sweatpants, leaving me to linger like a queen in his cozy bed.

I prop myself up on my elbows and take a look around the room, something I didn’t do last night.

The sheets I’m in are—go figure—light grey.

As is the comforter. But the fleece blanket is white.

And luxurious and warm. There’s a colonial-style dresser by the window, playing host to several potted plants, and a small nightstand on the other side of the bed.

I sit up to see better and notice his watch on the dresser alongside his phone, but nothing else.

No knickknacks or pictures, no framed artwork or posters.

Not that guys are much for photos, but even Zander has—well, had —a framed picture of the two of us on his nightstand.

I rise from the cozy bed, stretch and begin the painstaking search for my clothes.

My leggings are in a tangle on the floor by the dresser, not far from my hoodie, and at the foot of the bed is my bra.

Last but not least, I find my socks in two little balls all the way over by the closet.

Through the cracked door, I can see plenty of clothes in there, mostly in serviceable shades of grey.

Perhaps he didn’t want to schlepp all his favorite knickknacks and decor from Pennsylvania to here. Why bother for just one year? He’s so close to graduating anyway.

What are you? A Senior? A grad student?

What was Zander thinking, throwing around all that BS?

He didn’t seriously look Leo up, did he?

Maybe the whole ‘psychotic ex’ thing was an attempt to scare Leo away.

Like that’s going to work. Leo hasn’t so much as blinked in the face of Zander’s threats.

Calling Leo dangerous? The irony! Who’s the one getting drunk and picking fights?

And who’s the one who acts like he owns me?

Sure, Leo may have some secrets, but I feel safer with him than I ever did with Zander.

In the bathroom, I wash off all my crusty old makeup and work Leo’s small comb through my tangled hair. It’s not so silvery and shiny in the fluorescent light, but a good combing has it looking less sexed-up.

I find Leo in the narrow kitchen pouring coffee.

Gratefully, I take the full mug he offers me, breathing in the heavenly scent.

As I return the half-and-half to the fridge, my eyes snag on all the notes and pictures stuck to the freezer door: phone numbers with abbreviated labels, a postcard of the Roanoke Colony, an email address for a Dr. Joyce Logan at William & Mary, written in Leo’s calligraphic script.

I take a sip of coffee and point to the professor’s name. “Who’s this?”

As Leo turns to answer, a loud pounding on the door makes us both jump.

He looks questioningly at me while I stare, alarmed, at him.

I know what we’re both thinking. Zander .

My first instinct is to hide, but Zander wouldn’t be beating angrily on the apartment door if he didn’t know for sure he’d find me here.

Leo squeezes my arm as he brushes past me, his eyes imploring me to stay in the kitchen. Another aggressive knock has me setting my full mug down, coffee sloshing over my trembling hand. I wipe it on the dish towel as I listen to Leo open the door.

A male voice barks, “Did we wake you up?”

It’s not Zander.

“No, but how…? What…?”

“What are we doing here?” the guy supplies.

“I didn’t expect anyone until March, at the earliest.”

I clench the towel. Whoever this guy is, Leo doesn’t sound happy to see him.

A female voice cuts in, “Did you forget about eclipse season? ”

Leo swears under his breath. “What happened to Robin? I thought she was coming back.”

The man answers, “She’s taking a little R and R. Isn’t that the expression? Rest and relaxation? Military, I think.”

Who are these people?

“Listen, now’s not a good time,” Leo is quick to say. “Come back this afternoon?—”

There’s exasperation in the woman’s voice. “It’s already after eleven.”

I don’t know if it’s curiosity or concern, but some force propels me to creep around the corner and peer into the living room.

Perched on the arm of the couch is a beautiful woman, perhaps a few years older than me. Straight dark hair brushes her shoulders as she turns her head back and forth to look at each of the men. She’s wearing all black and both her shirt and her pants are skin tight.

Beside her is a man, probably in his mid-twenties. He’s taller than Leo, and even more broad. The way he stands, with his hands on his haunches, emphasizes his size and his confrontational attitude. He’s blond like me, and strikingly handsome.

When his blue eyes find mine, he smiles, slowly, in wicked delight. “You didn’t say you had company.” He’s talking to Leo, but he’s looking at me. Like I’m lunch.

Leo turns around and the panic in his eyes makes me freeze. Are these people dangerous? Are they going to hurt him or me? I take a few steps backwards, second guessing my decision to leave the kitchen.

“No, no, no, my dear.” The man waves me forward. “No need to hide. Come out and meet some of Leo’s old friends.”

Leo unclasps his hands from the back of his neck as his eyes flit from face to face to face. He reaches for my hand to coax me closer, but his words are clipped. “This is Elizabeth. Betts.”

The woman raises a haughty chin and assesses me. “Are you one of the psychics? ”

“Yes,” Leo says as I nod. “She’s clairsentient.” He glares at the blond guy like he’s trying to send him a message with his eyes—a message the guy seems determined to ignore.

“Hmm.” The woman tilts her head at me and wonders aloud, “So how much does she know?”

I’m starting to feel like an exhibit at the zoo. But before I can think of a snappy comeback, she thrusts a hand out at me. “I’m Topaz.”

Topaz? Surely that’s a nickname. Or a stage name. Maybe she’s a lead singer in a metal band and her real name is Margaret or Emily. Or Doris.

After I numbly shake her hand, the man offers me his. “I’m Rime.”

I’m not sure I heard him right. “Ryan?”

He may be large and intimidating, but his grip is gentle. “Rime. R-I-M-E.”

Like hoarfrost? Oookaaay. Maybe he’s the band’s lead guitarist?

The smirk he shoots Leo is as suggestive as an elbow and a wink. “She must be the one Robin told us about.”

Leo squeezes my hand as if to reassure me, but it doesn’t put me at ease.

Rime’s blue eyes comb over me and a smile plays on his lips. “This is her, isn’t it?” he asks Leo. “The Subworlder you’re so smitten with?”