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“With me.”
Roman stared at her.
“If you want to,” she said quickly. “I don’t have a guest room, but I can make up a bed for myself on the floor—”
“Your room is fine.”
Shay drew a breath. “Okay. Right this way.” She walked down the hall, moving slowly for Roman’s benefit. The Shadowmaster braced a hand against the wall with every step, his eyes downcast.
It took him a few minutes, but he finally made it into the bedroom.
He paused in the doorway, his gold eyes sweeping about her room, lingering the longest on her collection of bizarre art sculptures. Her favorites were made of soda cans. “You’re artsy,” he said.
Shay flushed. “That’s funny.”
He picked up on her reaction, his eyes snapping to her face. “What?”
“Most people who see my apartment call it trashy. A junkyard. They don’t have any appreciation for vintage collectibles.”
“Have you let many people see your apartment?”
“No.” She eyed him. “I feel like your question is coded.”
“Everything I say is coded.”
She gestured to the bed. “Lie down. Make yourself comfortable.”
He took a step. Winced. Another step. Winced. “Where are you going?” His eyes found hers as she drifted toward the door.
“To do some laundry. I’ll be back in a few.”
She left before he could reply or offer to help. Walking quietly in case Pax was already asleep, she grabbed Roman’s bloody clothes from the bathroom and hurried into the laundry room. The space was tiny and always humid, the washer and dryer stacked. As she scooped the bottle of detergent off the tile, she resisted the urge to pinch herself.
Roman Devlin was in her bedroom. Not in good condition, but still.
The Wolf of the Hollow was in her bedroom. In her bed.
Another, different reality hit her right after the last: The man with such a feared reputation as Head of the House of Black was not as bulletproof as he led the world to believe. Athene had called him a gifted actor, and while she’d meant it in a negative way to imply that Roman was selfish and dishonest, she had been correct in calling him that. He was not selfish, nor dishonest, but he wore a mask, and he played his role convincingly. A gifted actor who allowed very few people backstage.
Shay was honored to be one of those people.
As soon as the laundry was in, Shay grabbed the basket that was full of clean clothes she hadn’t bothered to put away before going out to Motel 58 and carried it into her bedroom.
Roman was still awake—lying on top of the covers. He stared at her as she set the basket on the bed.
“I said make yourself comfortable,” Shay said. “That doesn’t look comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable,” he argued.
“You’re not even under the covers.”
“I don’t like restriction.” He eyed the basket. “Don’t tell me you’re folding laundry at this hour.”
She pulled a bath towel out of the basket and folded it. “I won’t tell you, then.”
He sat up.
She dropped the t-shirt she’d just grabbed. “Lie down.” She pointed.
