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“Twice, actually,” he noted. “And no, not exactly. But kind of.”
I sat back against my pillow; the warm soup clutched between my hands. Men made no sense. Absolutely no sense.
“Eat your soup,” he said, all the gruffness returning to his voice. “It’s going to get cold.”
“And what’s with your food obsession?” I asked. “It’s practically the only thing that seems to lighten your mood.”
“I’ve got to eat it every day to stay alive, might as well enjoy it.”
I shook my head. He wasn’t telling me the whole story. What else was new?
18
Riggs
The remainder of our week of sanctuary felt like it was racing by. I spent most of my time watching over Sylvie, who mostly only got out of bed to use the bathroom or shower in the mornings. She rotated through the clothes I’d had Felix pick up from her apartment and rarely picked out anything but large t-shirts and athletic shorts.
She was in a perpetual state of cozy lounge mode, and I found the look oddly appealing. There wasn’t the usual over-eagerness to impress that I encountered with some women. She didn’t worry about fiddling in the mirror for hours to get her makeup and hair perfect.
She’d hop out of bed in socks and a ratty t-shirt, whack a werewolf in the head with a baseball bat, then curl up with a book while she ate some processed food out of a crinkly bag before dinner.
And somehow, I needed to find a way to stop one of the most powerful, dangerous arms of The Coven from capturing or killing her and her sister.
Lately, my wolf rarely stirred. Even when I was the acting Alpha of the Silverbacks, my wolf had always been largely dormant. Ever since I’d met Sylvie, I could constantly feel him stirring, like a second pair of eyes watching from within my skull.
Relax, asshole, I thought, directing the words to my wolf. Don’t get any ideas.
The only response was a vague impression of deep, echoing growls.
Sylvie let out a happy sigh, setting her paperback down on her chest and smiling contentedly.
“Haven’t you already read all those books Fang is bringing from your apartment?”
“Yes,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy my favorite moments.”
“What was the one that just made you smile like that?” I asked. Even as I heard the words leave my mouth, I could hardly believe they came from me. I didn’t make small talk. I didn’t care about other people or their interests, especially not in the last few years.
But when Sylvie’s eyes lit up at my question, I realized exactly why I’d asked. Dammit.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, facing me and forcing her shorts up until I could see a dangerous amount of smooth leg. It seemed she was still taking the time to shave her legs during those brief showers she took in the mornings. I tried to suppress the part of my brain that wanted to imagine what it would feel like to go to her now—to slide my hand up her smooth thigh and press her back down on the bed by the chest. To lower myself over her and kiss those innocent, perpetually puffy lips of hers.
I blinked, focusing on what she was telling me.
“...and the best part is she has no idea he was planning it the whole time. So just when you think she’s lost everything, he shows up and boom. Happily ever after.”
I grinned. I’d missed the majority of it, but she seemed to get a fresh dose of enjoyment just from giving me the recap, which had her hugging the book and smiling at me with raised eyebrows.
“How long have you had this condition?” I asked. The question had been bothering me, but I hadn’t gotten around to asking her.
“My mom had the same thing, so my parents were kind of always looking out for signs. But it seemed like it wasn’t a problem until I was six. I got this really bad case of pneumonia and I don’t know if that triggered it or something. But, yeah. Ever since I can’t really be around germs. I’ve taken risks here and there. I snuck out to go to my high school prom,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows dangerously at me. “Of course I mostly stood in the corner all night partly because I was terrified of all the people so close together, and, well, partly because I had this idiotic idea that the perfect guy would see me and swoop in. Rescue me from my torment, or something silly like that.”
I nodded. “Did you get sick?”
“Oh yeah. I wasn’t able to keep anything down for a solid week after that. It was coming out of both ends, let me tell you-” she paused mid-sentence, cheeks glowing red. “Figuratively speaking,” she added in a whisper. “I don’t poop, actually. I mean, not-” She clamped her mouth shut and stared intensely at her hands, which were wringing together in her lap.
