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Answers Anyone?

I hold the answers?

That’s unfortunate. I was seriously hoping that someone was going to tell me what the freaking answers are. Now it looks like they don’t know.

I glance from one to the other. They both stare back with those penetrating golden eyes, as though they can see inside me.

The witch and the freaking werewolf.

Could my life get any weirder?

I don’t think I want the answer to that question.

But really, things could be much, much worse. I’m alive. Zayne is alive. Those things didn’t drag me away to God knows where. And Khaosti is at least going to help me find some answers. It’s not what I was expecting—but then, really who would expect this?—when I dreamed of finding my family and uncovering my past. But it is something.

If I’m totally honest, now that the immediate danger seems to be over, it’s actually freaking mind-blowing. Werewolves and witches and who knows what else. And I’m not sure what was in that water, but I feel invigorated. More alive than I’ve ever felt before.

“I’ll see you out,” Khaosti says to Sheela. “You can catch me up on what’s been happening.”

“It’s not good.”

“I didn’t expect it to be.” He turns briefly to me. “Rest,” he orders.

I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. But I’m not a kid anymore, and besides, they’re already gone.

I look around. I suppose there are worse places to be stuck. I sink onto the matching sofa across from Zayne. Then I leap up again when Brown appears in the doorway. “Could I get you something to eat and drink?”

My stomach rumbles. It’s been a long, mostly food-free day. I have a deep desire right now for comfort food. “Pizza and coffee?” I ask hopefully. I’m not sure this is the sort of house that stocks pizza. “Meat-free. I don’t eat meat.”

He smiles and disappears, and I sigh, then sit back and close my eyes. Maybe I drift off because it seems only moments later that the smell of warm, cheesy pizza teases my nostrils. Brown rests a large tray with a huge deep-dish pizza on the table between the sofas. There’s also a steaming jug of coffee, a mug, milk and sugar, and a large glass of water.

Maybe I’ll stay here forever. Refuse to move out and maybe even sneak Josh in as well. Brown could adopt us all.

“Thank you,” I say. “It looks wonderful.” He turns to go, but I have an idea. “Hey, Mr. Brown…”

He turns back to me with a smile. “It’s just Brown, my lady. How can I help you?”

I’ve never been called ‘my lady’ before. “Could you tell me a bit about this house? Like where are we? And who Khaosti is? And… anything really.”

His smile fades. “I’m afraid that isn’t my place.”

He turns away, and this time I let him go. I think I might have offended him, but hey, if you don’t ask, you don’t get. Actually, in my case, even if you do ask, you don’t get.

Once I’m alone, I tuck in. It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Maybe that’s the result of my near brush with death, or maybe it’s just the best pizza I’ve ever had. I’ve always had a huge appetite—not a good thing when you have to rely on crappy crackhead Lissa to feed you. And I can eat and eat without putting on weight—I found that out when I worked in a cake shop the summer I was seventeen. So I’m not surprised when I manage to finish off the whole thing. I sit back with a sigh as I sip the strong, aromatic coffee. When the pot is empty, I kick off my boots and stretch out on the huge sofa, resting my head on my hands and watching the rise and fall of Zayne’s chest.

I’m not sure what wakes me, but I crack open an eye and peer around. I’m curled into a ball at one end of the sofa, and Khaosti’s long, lean body is sprawled out at the other end. I can’t help but notice how his black jeans hug his long legs, and his black T-shirt molds to his muscular chest and lean abdomen. Something warm and disturbing uncoils in my belly.

Not good.

I raise my gaze to his face. His eyes are closed, thick black lashes shadowing his skin. I try to make out the tattoo that coils around his neck, but most of it is covered. His mouth is slightly parted, the silver ring emphasizing his full lower lip. He’s too gorgeous to be real. Which brings me back to my hypothesis that none of this is actually real and I’m likely strapped down on a gurney somewhere in a mental facility. In which case, there’s nothing to stop me from staring at the beautiful specimen beside me. There’s one problem with this theory, though. If I conjured Khaosti up out of my fevered, sex-starved imagination, why the hell did I conjure up an asshole? My taste in men isn’t that crappy. Is it?

The answer to that is—maybe. I have no evidence to the contrary. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve been a little preoccupied with other things, so I’ve never met anyone I wanted to get close to like that. Never looked at a man and felt the blood heat in my veins.

Now looking at Khaosti, my nipples harden, and I shift on my seat.

I didn’t think I was attracted to assholes. But damn it, it’s starting to look that way.