Page 51 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

Bastian

Did you see the news?

Yes. Is that Marsh Thadur the same one Aramis mentioned?

Bastian

Same guy. Did you notice the sketches? All four are of the sleeping fae Aramis told us about.

The sleeping bodies?! How is that possible?

Bastian

That's what I'm trying to figure out. Stay inside. I'll be home later.

Fine…

Dots appeared, then disappeared. They didn’t reappear again.

I didn't want to admit how much I liked his protective words. Stay inside. I'll be home later.

I liked Bastian’s house. I could get used to living in a place like this, slightly removed from the city. In fact, I had every intention of taking advantage of it until we fixed my apartment.

So I finished off my coffee, and raided the pantry. Whatever I attempted wouldn’t compare to Bastian’s pancakes yesterday, so I settled on a banana. Then I went and changed in to a pair of shorts and headed downstairs to the gym.

Which was exactly where Bastian found me two hours later.

18

Ihad my fists wrapped, taking my frustrations out on the punching bag in Bastian’s gym, when he appeared. I paid him a sidelong glance as he got comfortable against the wall, leaning against it with a shoulder, arms crossed.

One look at his smug smile had me faltering.

I lifted my eyebrows, barely an acknowledgement, then turned back to the bag, throwing my body into every punch. It helped. All the guilt I felt surrounding Professor Miller’s death, all the frustration over my choices, like letting Luke into my life, sacrificing my dreams, my trashed apartment, my dead neighbor, faded into the background. I didn’t want to face any of it, but I couldn’t run forever.

Luke was like a festering sore, bleeding and infected. He’d burrowed so far into my life, that disappearing hadn’t been enough. I should have known better⁠—

“You hungry, sugar?” Bastian’s voice pulled me from my spiral and my movements slowed to a stop. I was panting, my chest rising and falling in bursts. I blew a lock of pink hair out of my face.

Bastian’s eyes darted over my sweat-slicked body, over the sports bra and stretchy, barely-there shorts. There was heavy heat in that gaze, words unspoken, pleasures left untested. My cheeks flushed.

“I could eat,” I said, stepping away from the bag.

He glanced at it, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You throw a mean punch. Something tells me there’s a story there?” I shrugged. “All right, then. Keep your secrets—for now. Up for a little sparring later?”

I opened my mouth, then frowned. That was not a good idea. Getting so close to him after last night…

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he teased.

I scowled. Fun? Right. Assuming that by fun he meant, ending up on the floor with our clothes off, tangled up in each other, yeah, sure, fun. I didn’t respond.

“I’ll let you think about it. Meantime, I got sandwiches from the deli. Come and eat. We can talk.” He nodded with his head toward the stairs. I swallowed, hesitating.

“Here—” He stepped forward and took one of my hands before I could stop him, then began unwrapping my fists. I winced. “Sugar…” he scolded, eyes darting up to meet mine. “Is there a reason you got blood seeping into your wraps?”

I took a deep, slow inhale. “No…” I said at last. He lifted a brow.

“You know I can smell a lie,” he warned. I snorted. “All right. I won’t push. Come on.” He led me up the stairs and into the kitchen, only dropping my hand when we got there. “Grab the bag there, and I’ll get the rest.”