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Victor takes a step forward and clasps my wrist, his nose less than an inch away from my skin as he delicately sniffs me. That shouldn't make me feel things. It's just that he looks like he wants to lick the inside of my wrist, and that thought makes hot little tendrils flare deep inside me.
He leans in closer, and my breath hitches as he ever-so-lightly runs his nose against my wet skin. "We should go inside," I breathe, unable to take my eyes off him. "It's raining."
Victor's focus is entirely on my skin, and I can't tear my gaze away from him. He's so very fascinated by that part of me. I wonder if it smells better than the rest of my body. Or is it the trace of veins he sees under the delicate skin there? Or—
His expression changes as he gazes at my arm. His tail thrashes while the rest of him goes still, and then I realize what he's looking at. One of my finger-shaped bruises is peeping out of my wet sleeve.
Oh no.
Victor's eyes start to turn red again, even as he fixes his gaze on me. "Who—"
"No one here," I say quickly. "It was an accident, and it's taken care of."
His nostrils flare and he sniffs the air. I'm not sure how much he can scent in a downpour, but my heart plummets when he pulls my sleeve further back, revealing the wealth of bruises Riffin left up and down my arm. Victor takes one deep, shuddering breath. Then another.
"If you lose control, you're proving them right," I whisper. "Just remember that."
The look he gives me is pure frustration, mingled with fury. I expect him to lose it. To just freak out and attack everything and anything in sight. To chase down the guards that just left us and fling them over the cliffs. Whatever he can do to cause chaos and misery on my behalf, even if I don't want it.
Instead, he closes his eyes and pauses for a moment. He runs his thumb lightly over the inside of my wrist, his claw avoiding my skin, and then he releases me.
I sneeze.
I can practically see his hackles go up, his triangular-shaped ears perking. He fixes his gaze on me again. "You are going to go inside and get warm," he tells me. "And then we are going to talk."
Sounds somewhat reasonable. I nod and head for the door, rubbing my twitching nose. Maybe I can feign catching a cold to distract him from the bruises. Act weak and whiny and helpless to pull his interest towards something else, or at least stall. It's just that it feels rather disingenuous and unfair to manipulate Victor like I do everyone else. It feels like we're on the same team most of the time, and I'm loath to lose that feeling.
Better to just come clean and get it over with.
I glance over at Victor and as I watch, he grabs the enormous trunk that took two full-sized mesakkah to carry and slings it over one shoulder as if it weighs nothing. He grunts at me, gesturing at the door with his other hand.
Right. Inside. I shouldn't stare at that display of strength or the way his muscles are defined by the pouring rain. I blink my eyes to clear them and open the door, stepping over the threshold.
I gasp the moment I step inside, because it's not what I expected at all. The exterior of the house is plain and sterile, but it's obvious that whatever human lived here for a short period of time did their best to make this place a cozy home. The usual generic accoutrements are here—a small fridge, a food processor, a comm panel on one wall, a sad-looking chair and table in the living area. But the walls…oh, the walls.
The walls have been painted in bright, enticing patterns. One wall is nothing but circular flowers in reds and yellows and oranges, sunny splashes of color intermixed with paler paisley shapes. The small adjacent kitchen is painted with blue stars and yellow moons tumbling all over the exposed wall space, and I race toward the bedroom with excitement, because I can't wait to see what beauty is there.
The walls there are decorated too, but it's full of hearts and butterflies, and I blush at all the pink adorning the walls. Maybe I should have seen that coming. At any rate, it's delightful. Is it a little childish? Sure. A little overly bright? Yes. But it's so happy and warm that I adore it, and it changes my impression of the somber building entirely. "How delightful," I say as I hear Victor come in behind me. "The person that painted all this must have been so devastated to leave it all behind."
"Or," he says slowly, setting the trunk down, "They were pleased to have entirely new walls to paint."
