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Peaches nods. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. So I’ll see you for dinner later?”
He just pushes me toward her, and I stumble into the redhead’s arms with a grunt. Peaches grabs me by the elbows and I let her lead me into the room before reaching for the blindfold, tearing it off and tossing it to the floor.
“He’s such an asshole,” I say.
“He’s still right there,” Peaches says with wide eyes.
I glance over my shoulder to find Reyes with his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed.
“Uh…see you later,” I say, raising my hand.
He doesn’t say another word before shutting the door.
I turn to Peaches, whose jaw is slack as she looks at me. “So I guess that didn’t go well?”
I take a sharp breath, glaring at her. “Of course it didn’t,” I say. “He had a lot of explaining to do, and well…he did a bad job. And he’s not the only one.”
“I’m so sorry, Tilda,” she says. “I only knew he bit you because I could scent him on you, and—”
“Scent him on me?”
“Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not lycan,” she says. Her eyes squint shut. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that about three times.”
“I just want you to understand that it wasn’t—it’s not—” Peaches squeezes the bridge of her nose and shakes her head. “It’s not a weird thing. I mean, it is.”
“You’re not making me feel much better,” I say.
“Ugh,” Peaches groans. “I amnotthe person that should be explaining this. I’m not great with words.”
I should really try to be nicer; this woman is the first real ally I’ve had here, and she’s been nothing but kind. I force myself to breathe and relax my shoulders, biting my lip. As I center myself, I finally take a look around the room to find it’s a little less sparsely decorated than Reyes’, with odds and ends in little stone shelves all around the edges. She even has asofa, a crocheted granny square blanket in pastel yarn draped over it.
It’s cute. Very Peaches, actually.
“Can you try to explain?” I ask. “This is all new to me. Everything I know about lycanthropy has been from the Heavenly Host, and I’m starting to think they may not have divulged everything.”
“Oh, they definitely didn’t,” Peaches says. “But hey…I still haven’t had a chance to get you some clean clothes. Wanna get changed and then we can talk?”
I give her a grateful smile, her kindness making me feel at least a little more comfortable. “Sure,” I say. “That would be great.”
?
Ten minutes later, I settle into the sofa while Peaches takes a seat on the bed. She’s dug up a pair of shorts that fits me—albeit a little loose, as I’ve got more of an athletic build. She’s shorter than me, but lush and curvy, so most of her clothes don’t quite fit. In her shorts, too, my legs seem to stretch for miles, while my slender torso is swimming in the oversized t-shirt she’s given me.
I guess I can’t be picky about clothes when they’re clearly just getting established here.
Fuck, they can’t even feed their children.
I’ve always been self-conscious about my legs—ever since the crusades, anyway. I took a laser blast to the thigh eight years ago, and the flesh is mottled from knee to hip.
Peaches doesn’t comment on it, or even give it more than a cursory glance. I guess I’m probably not the only one around here with battle scars.
“So,” I say. “Are you okay with telling me more about all this wolf stuff?”
Peaches chews on her lip, her eyes flitting to the door. I’m sure there’s someone keeping watch out there, especially since I get the impression I’m here because Peaches is the only person in the den who will tolerate me.
“I guess he didn’t tell menotto explain,” she says. “And it’s not fair to you not to know.”
