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15
Lyon dragged himself through his run the next morning, trying to wipe the vestiges of another shitty night’s sleep from his mind and body. He hadn’t slept soundly since Kira had come to live in the apartment, and last night had been worse than most. He’d spent half the time thinking about her, replaying the moment they’d shared at the fire, and the other half ruminating on his next steps in light of Musa’s destruction of Samara.
By the time he showered and left his room, he was badly in need of coffee. He started down the hall toward the stairs, then heard a screech come from the direction of Kira’s suite.
He hesitated and headed back the other way, surprised to find her door open. He’d never seen it open unless he caught her coming or going, but now the hall was empty.
He looked inside, expecting to find her in the bedroom, but that was empty too. The screeching erupted again, and Lyon saw that it was coming from the elaborate birdcage that had been brought from the Baranov residence.
He tried to see what was going on from the door, but the interior of the cage was shadowed and all he could make out was the flutter of wings.
He paused and stepped into the room, pushing aside the feeling that he was an intruder. He was simply investigating the unholy noise, as anyone would.
The room was nicer than he remembered, owing entirely to the things Kira had added. Where once the wood floors had been bare and gleaming, they were now covered in patterned carpets. She’d installed sheer curtains on the windows — had she done it herself or had Rurick done it for her? — and several bookcases he’d never seen before now lined one wall, filled with books.
The white duvet he’d had put on the bed before the wedding had been covered with a patterned throw in pinks, teals, and golds, and the nightstands now held table lamps he’d never seen. On paper, the room was everything he despised — patterned, busy, one step away from being cluttered — and yet somehow it appeared inviting.
Another screech sounded from the birdcage, pulling his attention from the decor. He approached the cage cautiously. The door appeared to be latched, but he’d didn’t know much about birds, about any kind of pet for that matter. He’d never had one, had never wanted one beyond his brief years as a boy when he’d longed for a dog.
He peered inside the cage. He’d known there were two birds, but he’d never seen them up close. Now he saw there was a violet one and a green one with a yellow head, each trying to deter the other from picking at a ball of paper hanging from the top of the cage.
They alternated taking a run at the twirling, multicolored ball and pecking at each other to gain exclusive access, at which point one or the other of them would squawk so loudly Lyon thought his ears might start bleeding.
“I’m sorry.” A voice behind him caught him by surprise and he turned to find Kira standing just inside the door. She was wearing a soft pink tracksuit that brought out the color in her cheeks, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot. “Are they too loud?”
He’d been surprised when she appeared at the scene of the fire the day before in jeans and sneakers, but she was even more casual today, and he couldn’t help feeling that he was getting a glimpse of the woman behind the icy facade he’d grown accustomed to.
It made her look soft and warm in a way that made him nervous.
He tried to compose himself. “It’s fine. I’ve just never heard them like that before.”
She walked toward him in a faint cloud of lavender and that haunting undertone of patchouli. What in god’s name was that scent? Her shampoo? Her perfume? He didn’t know, but it made him want to rip off her clothes and lay her out naked, run his nose along her bare skin, breathe her in.
“They fight over their toys,” she said.
He looked back into the cage, relieved to have an excuse to look away from her startlingly green eyes. “And that… thing is their toy?”
He was surprised to hear her laugh and even more surprised to find that her laugh was hearty. He’d never heard her laugh before. Not up close, not with him.
The sound of it traveled down his spine and lodged somewhere in his stomach.
“It is,” she said. “Silly, isn’t it? It’s just a ball of paper scraps, but they like to pick them off and chew them.”
He watched as the blue parakeet tore a yellow piece of paper off the ball. The green one lunged at him and screeched.
“And it’s okay for them to do that?” He felt ridiculous, but he was curious in spite of himself.
“It’s good for them actually. Chewing keeps their beaks healthy.”
“What are their names?” he asked, his eyes still on the birds.
“The blue one is Dimitri and the green one is Odette,” she said. “I’ll try to keep them quieter. I know they can be loud.”
“How do you sleep?” he asked. “Aren’t they ever loud at night?”
“They settle down when it gets dark,” she said. “They know my schedule, but if they do make too much noise, I put the cover on their cage and they go to sleep. By morning, they’re chirping again, but softly.” She laughed again. “Usually.”
The birds had quieted, chirping quietly now that they’d decided to play nicely.
