My brow scrunches, but I nod. Truth.
“Naked, all night, and kissing you this morning, and the two of you were only just getting dressed.”
I don’t get a chance to interrupt before he’s leaning in close to my ear and saying ever so softly, “My turn.”
So I blurt, “I’m not the outhouse.”
He snorts, but he doesn’t really backup, so I consider myself lucky it’s a tiny snort. “What?” he kind of whisper-demands.
“For you to take turns with. Everyone has to share the outhouse.”
“If you were an outhouse, I would keep you all to myself,” he whispers. “That’s my goal in life – to have my own private bathroom.”
I – ah – what?
I seriously don’t know what to do with that? It could be a compliment, but it feels like an insult.
Then he straightens, putting some space between us. Chuckin’ beaming at me. “I like watching you squirm. It’s fun.”
I adjust my shirt, hunting for a distraction, or the right thing to say, or some smart-ass comment that currently eludes me.
What a time for my mouth to fail me.
So I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s Pax doing?”
“Showering, using the toilet, brushing his pubes, who knows.”
Seth and information do go surprisingly well together. He’s not one for withholding things, but sometimes he just enjoys watching what happens when I draw conclusions. This is one of those times. Now I’m chewing on my lip, trying to picture the various times I’ve seen Pax pantsless and if the guy even had pubes.
The air is teased with a rich scent that’s coming from Seth.
“You smell like a blacksmith eating an orange,” I tell him, hoping it will change the subject.
He laughs. “Killian says my Seed smells like copper, and I smell like citrus. Have you always been able to smell me?”
“Usually body odor and decaying food.”
“I was being serious,” Seth says, taking my free hand and leading me to the kitchen alcove. “Have you always been able to smell me?”
My other hand is being hugged to my chest. It aches, but nothing like the pain I was in.
“No,” I answer him, then accept a roll stuffed with some kind of bright red berry that I hope isn’t about to kill me.
“It’s new, and Roarke says –”
“What does Roarke say?” Roarke says, cutting Seth off.
I turn sharply to meet the AllureSeed’s dark eyes. His long hair is pulled back in a neat bun with a few strands broken free around his face. He looks like he’s washed his face and brushed his hair, but his clothes haven’t changed. Roarke’s focus is deep and intense, and damn, I want him.
He steps into the building and meets my gaze, a look of relief relaxing his features before his attention settles on my arm. I’m cradling it again, and it aches – like I hauled hay bales all day and the weather’s turned bone-cold – but not badly enough for the serious look that falls over him. His shoulders tense as he crosses the distance.
“Sorry,” I begin, because damn, that’s exactly how I feel.
He stops suddenly and asks, “Why?” His tone is soft and then buried under Killian’s voice.
“Yes – why?” Killian demands.
I didn’t see him arrive, but he’s suddenly right beside Roarke. I’d step back, but the kitchen bench is behind me, which kind of makes escape impossible. Killian steps in close and shoves two things at me, my knife – now in its sheath – and my dart-cuff – with all five darts cleaned and polished. I wrap my good arm around them, almost losing my roll in the process. And now both my arms are full, and eating my roll is impossible anyway.
“Sorry,” I echo.
He growls at me, leaning in close to grab the collar of my shirt.
“Wear them in their sheaths or I’ll embed them into your thigh. Your choice.”
I swallow hard, and thank chuck Roarke changes the subject, asking, “What do you remember?”
“Not much,” I say. Remembering what we did so we can do it better next time would have been the beginning of a smart idea. “The last thing I really remember is you grabbing my arm,” I grumble at Killian.
“Nothing else?” Roarke asks.
“What should I be remembering?”
My mouth fills with a bitter taste, and I roll my tongue around trying to work out what it is, before realizing that’s not helping.
“What did you put on my roll, Seth?”
“Jam.”
“Then why has it made my taste buds pinch and sting?”
“Like it’s bitter?” Killian asks.
“You gave me bitter jam?” I demand, but why doesn’t that surprise me. Bitter jam is right up Seth’s alley.
“It’s not the jam,” Roarke says.
But at the same time Killian lets go of my shirt, pokes me in the forehead, and growls. “Stop using my power.”
“What emotion tastes bitter?” I ask, getting another poke for my effort.
Roarke’s brow furrows thoughtfully before he says, “Indecision.”
Which stops my tumbling thoughts. “What’s there to be indecisive about?”
“No.” Killian grabs my bad arm from its half-cradled, half-holding weapons position.
He pulls it toward him, making the rest of me stagger forward too, and everything I was holding falls to the ground.
“Ouch,” I hiss. “That’s attached to me.”
He’s smiling at it – ignoring the rest of me.
“Does this hurt?” he asks, digging his thumb in hard.
“Yes, Killian. Stop it.”
I buckle, and Seth has to catch me before I end up on my knees. The two of them are similar in height, which leaves me dwarfed between them.
Killian works his thumb along the muscle, each movement stabbing pain deeper through me. Then he tosses my arm away.
“She’s fine,” he says, and he sounds rather pleased with himself. “The bone’s solid. Her muscles are protesting the healing. Another mortal flaw.”
Seth pulls me back; the muscles of the arm that he has wrapped around me are solid and securing, but his other hand slides under my shirt and settles softly against my stomach. It’s calming and centering.
“So, she did heal herself?” Seth asks, and I know he’s smiling even without looking at him.
I straighten,
