Len’s mouth flattened into a line. “How do you think I was able to afford the damn thing on a salary from AJ’s?” he asked. “Besides, I’d’ve thought the bullet holes would make you feel right at home.”
I shut my mouth and got in the passenger side, taking two attempts to get the door closed properly. At a guess, the hunk of metal on its shrieking hinges weighed about twice as much as I did.
“Hey—I’m not judging,” I said, settling into a seat that nearly swallowed me whole. The seatbelt stuck as I tried to pull it out. Len saw me struggling and leaned over to give it a sharp yank, freeing it.
Somewhat surprisingly, at the turn of the key, the engine purred into life like a contented kitten. Len eased the massive vehicle out of its parking spot and headed out of the private garage, shooting me occasional side-eyed glances as he did.
“Anyplace in particular I’m supposed to go?” he asked, once we’d reached the street.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter, as long as I can get underwear, jeans, shoes, and maybe some kind of athletic wear. So, Target, I guess?”
He nodded and pulled into traffic. I studied his profile, struck again by how strung-out he looked. His purple fauxhawk was teased into its usual neat crest, and his metal piercings glinted in the uneven light of the moving car. But beyond that, he looked like shit, not to put too fine a point on it.
“All right, buddy,” I said. “Out with it. You’ve heard all about my humiliating new take on sex addiction, so you might as well tell me what’s going on with you right now. Because I have an awful feeling that whatever it is, it’s somehow my fault.”
For a long moment, Len was silent, and I got the impression he was fighting with himself over whether or not to answer. Finally, he heaved a sigh, his shoulders hunching over the Lincoln’s steering wheel.
“Tris and I are on the rocks.”
I made a sympathetic noise.
“We’re ‘taking a break,’” he continued, lifting one hand from the wheel to sketch air quotes. “Jesus, Zorah. Everything’s been so fucked up the last few weeks.”
Tell me about it, I thought. Aloud, I said, “It’s because of what happened that night at the club, I’m guessing?”
Len had asked Rans to erase Tristan’s memories of being shot, and of what had happened afterward—eyewitness proof of the supernatural at work. He’d refused the same treatment, though, and I’d suspected at the time that doing so was a questionable decision on his part.
What he’d seen and experienced that night was... a lot. And that was before you factored in the whole ‘kinda sorta lying to your boyfriend about it’ part.
Len shrugged. “I mean... yeah. Not that things were perfect before, but...”
“Is he okay?” I asked. “You said he was already dealing with some mental health stuff.”
“Well—he still is dealing with it, of course.” Len shifted in the driver’s seat. “But our problems right now are more to do with me. I mean, he’s on his meds; they’re still working like they’re supposed to. I’m the one who’s—” He cut himself off and shook his head sharply.
“Are you okay?” I pressed, already guessing the answer.
“No,” Len said. “No, I’m not fucking okay. Vampires exist. Demons exist. I’m a fucking atheist, Zorah. What the hell am I supposed to do with that shit?” He let out a sharp, unhappy breath. “Anyway, Tris thinks I’m hiding something from him. Which, obviously, I am. He asked me to move out while we figure out what we’re doing.”
My chest ached. “I’m so sorry, Len.”
I caught his frown in profile. “Still not your fault that crazy horror movie monsters are trying to kill you, Z.”
“You’re way too nice for your own good, you know,” I told him.
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “No offense, Zorah, but you barely know me.”
I shook my head. “I know enough, Mister ‘Walks-Frightened-Female-Coworkers-To-The-Bus-Stop.’ You’re here, aren’t you?”
Len gave a barely audible snort. “What makes you think I’m not just trying to prove to myself that it all really happened?”
“Either way, you’re still here,” I repeated, giving him a sad smile.
“Yeah. I guess I am. And I probably oughta check myself into the same treatment facility Tris used,” he muttered.
“Nuh-uh. Target first. Heavy-duty psych meds later,” I teased, trying to lighten the moment. “And I’m sorry about Rans springing the ‘sex club’ thing on you like that. Don’t feel bad if that one’s a hard no. I’ll admit I’m kind of drained right now, but it’s not too bad. If I need to, I can figure out an alternate plan that doesn’t involve my gay ex-coworker tying me up in rope bondage so strangers can perv on me.”
Len turned into a mall entrance and shot me another glance. “Okay, before I address that part directly, it’s my turn for relationship gossip. What exactly is going on between you two, anyway? At the club, I assumed you were dating... or maybe friends with benefits. Now, after watching him pimp you out for an evening of semi-public shibari, I’m not so sure.”
“No, we’re together,” I said, still taken by surprise at the feelings those words engendered whenever I thought them, much less said them aloud.
“What... is it like an open relationship or something?” Len asked.
“Not exactly,” I clarified. “He needs to bite people and drink their blood, or he starves. I need to make people horny for me and suck a bit of their sex energy out of the ether, or I starve. You know that old saying, ‘I don’t care where he gets his appetite, as long as he eats at home’?”
“Yeah...” Len said slowly.
“Well, for us, I guess you could say it’s kind of the opposite.”
He seemed to weigh that for a few moments as he looked for a parking spot. “All right, then. Fair enough. Weird as fuck, Z...
