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A part of me wondered if he was taking me into his trafficking circle, now that I’d brought it up, but that illusion was quickly quashed when we ended up in the ports at Palay to pick up the latest shipment of stow from the docks.
It was just business as usual.
“You’re a hot mess today, huh?” Orson asked as we drove back toward the warehouse.
“Hm?”
I had zoned out, my eyelids growing heavier as we entered the Pario City limits. I just wanted to shower and sleep for a full day, work be damned. Elijah be damned. Everything be damned.
“Take tomorrow off,” Orson told me magnanimously. “You’re no good to me when you’re like this, and you’ll just end up ripping off another hand if you go to work all hormonal.”
He winked at me, his hand sliding across the console to pat my leg, the truck slowing as we came closer to my house. “You know, Abby, I can be really good to you.”
I shifted my leg, and his hand fell away.
“You have been already,” I told him firmly but kindly, crossing my thighs.
Orson scowled. “You know what I mean, Abby. Isn’t it about time that we stop pretending that there isn’t something between us?”
I paled, grateful for the fading dusk as I peered desperately out the window. I had thought we were past this nonsense, but every once in a while, Orson still had to bring it up.
The truck pulled to the curb, and this time, his fingers clutched to my leg.
“I know you felt like you had some kind of—I don’t know—loyalty to Elijah when he first died, but Abigail, it’s been long enough now. You don’t owe him anything.”
Mild panic swept through me as I weighed my options. I didn’t want to piss him off, but I couldn’t lead him on, either.
“What about Etta?” I squeaked. “What about your loyalty to her?”
He hissed, leaning forward, but as he opened his mouth, a loud rap on the window startled us both. Jumping, we turned to see a huge, unfamiliar man standing on the sidewalk.
“Who the hell is that?” Orson demanded.
I didn’t answer, but seized the opportunity to escape the vehicle, my heart hammering in my throat.
“Ms. Abigail Morrow?” he intoned flatly.
Intuitively, I knew that Elijah had sent this dragon shifter, his ashy scent filling my nostrils.
“Who the hell are you?” Orson demanded, striding toward us.
Without a word, the nameless man thrust a box into my hand and walked off into the shadows.
“Hey!” Orson yelled out. “Come back here!”
“It’s all right, Orson,” I sighed, opening the box. A gasp fell from my lips as my eyes landed on what was inside. “Oh…”
Immediately, I closed the lid as Orson approached, his neck craning to look.
“What is that?” he asked suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
I shook my head again and backed away.
“It’s from a friend,” I whispered, emotion choking me up as I fought to keep my tone even.
“What friend? The same one who broke your window?” Orson spat. “Is that why you won’t be with me?”
I recoiled and shook my head. “Orson, you’re with Etta,” I told him, confusion and emotion overtaking me.
