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I blink in surprise, because that's the most positive thing I've ever heard come from him. "Why Victor, you ray of sunshine."
He shoves the trunk against one of the walls and then steps toward me. "You're wet."
That makes me blink again, because something completely different comes to mind, and it takes me a moment to realize he's referring to my clothes and water. I clear my throat, suddenly very aware of the small house and Victor's huge presence. "We did stand outside in the rain for a while."
Victor stalks past me, opening one of the doors, scanning the inside of an empty closet, and then shutting it again. "Blankets. Where?"
Oh. Right. "Let's open the trunk. It looks like one of the settlement packages they give to human women when they're assigned a farm." I smile brightly at him and move toward the enormous box, touching the panel to open it. Sure enough, inside are dried pantry goods and household basics. I pick up the plas-wrapped blanket and hold the bundle out to him, then dig around for another. Hmm. Just one. Come to think of it, there had only been one small bed, too.
This…was not thought through very well. I frown, digging in the trunk a little deeper in case I missed anything. Soaps. Cleaning supplies. Menstrual supplies. A metal pot and a couple of mugs. "There's only one blanket." I get to my feet, plucking at the wet clothing that's sticking to my body and outlining my every roll and dimple. "I'll go speak to Herrix and tell him we need more—"
Victor steps between me and the door. He pushes the blanket toward me. "You take it. I'm not cold."
I'm not cold either, just uncomfortable, but my nose chooses that moment to tickle, and I sneeze again. Victor's features take on a stubborn look and he moves toward me, tugging at my collar.
I make a sound of alarm as he does, slapping his big hands away. "What are you doing?"
"Helping you undress." He says it gruffly, the annoyance still threading through his voice. "Then you are going to wrap up in the blanket and you're going to tell me about those bruises."
"Maybe I don't want to talk about the bruises," I say, pushing his hands away when he reaches for my collar again. "They really are none of your business."
"You don't want to talk about the bruises?" Victor's voice turns into a growl, and he scowls down at me. His eyes aren't red, though, so I take that as a good sign. "Fine. Then I want my champion's reward."
My brain must not be firing on all cylinders, because I have no idea what he's talking about. "Your champion's reward?" I echo. "What reward?"
He leans in, all tusks and teeth and bright, bright eyes. "My kiss. You said you'd kiss me if I went along with things." He gestures at our surroundings. "Here I am, not drinking the blood of my enemies. I am being docile…and I want my kiss. I want us to share breath."
I flush, a flutter of excitement in my belly at his demand. "Right now?"
"No," he says, and puts his hand on the bundled blanket, plucking it out of my grip and holding it in front of my face. "You are going to get under this without your clothes on. And then we are going to kiss. I have been very patient."
I swallow hard, my pulse thundering. "You're being very demanding," I say, but I take the blanket from him again and unwrap the plas-film covering off of it. The blanket underneath isn't very soft, but it's functional. "What if I were to tell you that I don't appreciate your tone and that I want you to speak to me like a friend? And that you don't make demands of friends?"
Victor leans in, bending over an absurd amount to try and come eye to eye with me. "I would agree with you. But I would also point out that you're stubborn and used to pushing others into giving you what you want, and that ends with me. We're equals."
"Fair enough." I point at the bathroom. "But I'm changing in there."
15
VICTOR
Bee smells keffing amazing.
I draw in great lungfuls of air, loving the slight scent that threads through the stale scent of the house. Even that's not so bad. There's a faint whiff of someone here long ago, the smell of dust, and everything else is Bee. Bee, whose scent has been growing steadily more enticing by the moment. Bee, who smells like faint arousal and curiosity, and the arousal part is growing more intense by the moment.
She did not like the rain quite like I did. Even now, I'm tempted to go out and stand in it once more, just to feel it on my face. It felt fresh, and new, and different. I love it, even though I've done my best to hide how much I liked it. Bee seemed less thrilled, and it made her sneeze, so I want her indoors. I'm tempted to race outside and see how far I can get before they catch me—always, always in the back of my head, there is a need to escape, to break free, to test the boundaries of my captivity. But I made a promise to Bee, and she is going to kiss me and let her breath mingle with mine, so I put off the escape once more.
