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All in all, they’d returned to a mess that had required work to clean up.
Not that it fixed the part of me that just wanted to feel like I belonged again.
Grant held his arms open, an offer I took him up on. The speed at which I returned the hug told me that my anger only had to do with my own hurt. The second I had the chance to breathe him in, to feel the lines of Grant’s slim form against mine, I jumped on it.
In fact, I was pretty sure that if he gave me the option, I’d strip him down in that kitchen just to reacquaint myself with his body, to remember each tattoo on his skin, to trace them with my lips.
Except, he pulled away too fast, as if he knew where my mind was going and couldn’t let it travel that way. Still, he seemed less tense. Maybe he’d needed the hug as much as I had.
Grant placed his hands on the edge of the counter and hopped up, but the motion wasn’t as smooth as usual. It was more proof that Grant hadn’t been relaxing somewhere over the past few weeks.
A chime behind me announced that my coffee was done, and guilt gnawed at me until I poured the coffee between two smaller cups instead of the huge one I had planned for myself. I poured a good heft of creamer from Troy’s fridge into both cups and stirred before handing Grant’s to him.
He took it with a quick thanks before downing two large gulps. It had to have burned his throat, but if he noticed, he showed no sign.
Talk about someone needing the caffeine.
“Are you really okay?” I asked, voice lowered because we didn’t talk about such things. It took me back to when we’d lain in bed together after the banshee, after Grant had nearly been killed and I’d been forced to bargain with Lucifer to save them all.
No matter how strong they seemed, Gran had taught me that strength and power didn’t always save people.
If it did, she’d still be here.
Grant stared at me, quiet for a moment as if he could read my thoughts. Then again, maybe he had. It didn’t bother me as much as it had before. The idea of him slipping into my thoughts wasn’t such an invasion as everything we’d been through.
“I’m okay,” he said finally.
“You’ve got blood on your pant leg.”
He glanced down and frowned. “Damn it. I liked these pants.”
“Can’t you magic it away?”
He shook his head. “Surprisingly enough, blood and chocolate cake just don’t come out of fabric, even with my skills.”
I pressed my lips together, his answer entirely unsatisfying.
He quirked his lips, as though my annoyance spurred him to life.
And that made me feel a little better, when some of the color returned to his cheeks and he looked a bit more like his old self.
“So what got your arm?”
He lifted it to show me. “My wards needed some beefing up.”
“You didn’t do that much damage to me when you set up mine.”
“You never listen. Magic requires sacrifice for things like wards. The bigger the sacrifice, the better the protection. What was after you wasn’t as dangerous as what’s on my ass.”
“What is after you?” I had assumed we were talking about Lilith, but maybe Grant had a lot more problems than I knew about.
Grant shrugged. “Mages are worse than some of the other factions when it comes to gathering power. See, werewolves and vampires get more powerful as they age, but mages only gain political power. They’re sort of stuck where they are in terms of base power. That means we’re much quicker to take out potential enemies.”
“But you’re not even part of the guild…”
“Depends on who you ask. Besides, whether I am or not doesn’t change that I’ve got to interact, now. Well, that means I’m back on their radar. It isn’t the nicest ones who know anything about Lilith, either.”
“Did you find anything?”
