“Why don’t you put on a robe or something?” Carrick suggests as he heads toward the door. “The healer won’t need to see your injuries to fix them.”
“Okay,” I reply, sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. When I stand, I have to force myself not to wince or groan from the aches and pains because getting thrown through a glass window is no picnic.
After one last glide of his eyes over me, Carrick moves to the door and quietly slips out.
My first step on my sprained ankle is a doozy, and it throbs wretchedly as I hobble into the adjoining bath, where, for the first time since we got to the condo, I’m able to get a good look at myself in the mirror. I’ve got black soot in patches across my face, a nice big scrape across my cheek, and a shiner starting to really shine. My hair is a mess, and I can see sparkles of glass stuck within the curls. I’ll have to come back later and carefully get it all out.
As Carrick suggests, I wrap myself up in a floor-length robe, but as I’m limping back into the bedroom, my cell phone rings. While it had survived Dark Fae Fallon, the screen is cracked, but I can make out it’s a Seattle number calling. I’m guessing it’s either from the police or the fire department.
It’s barely six AM so I roughen up my voice, slow my words, and try to sound like I’ve just woken up when I answer.
It is indeed a police officer to tell me that One Bean had caught fire, that the fire department almost had the fire out, and it looked like the businesses on either side were spared. I didn’t have to do anything immediately as I didn’t own the building, just rented it, but there would be an investigation, and if they found arson or foul play, they’d let me know.
I think I acted appropriately shocked, even though I wasn’t. However, my grief was genuine because every time I think of my beautiful coffee shop as nothing but a shell of black cinders, my throat closes up and tears threaten to spill. The detective heard it in my voice and extended sympathies a few times before we hung up.
I had called Lisa from the car after Zaid picked Carrick and me up. She was supposed to be the one opening the shop, and I needed her to know what had happened so she could get a phone tree going to the employees. I would need to get out an email soon to assure them that their jobs would remain intact while we rebuild.
In the kitchen, I find Zaid doing what he does best, which is cooking a huge breakfast. Carrick is on an island stool with a cup of coffee in front of him while he scrolls through his phone. He had put on a new shirt, but he’s still sporting black soot on his face and dried blood on his arms and hands.
Zaid hears me come in, glances over his shoulder, and nods to the island. “Sit. I’ll get you some coffee.”
“I can get it myself,” I assure him, touched he cares and a little wowed by this sweetened version of Zaid.
“Sit,” he barks, and I jump slightly. Carrick cuts his eyes to me, an amused smile in place, and nods to the seat beside him. I move that way, trying to minimize my limp. It does no good as Carrick watches me like a hawk, lips pressed flat in dismay that I’m in pain. I’m sure he’s thinking over and over to himself what an idiot I’ve been.
Just as I’ve situated myself and made sure my robe doesn’t gape, Zaid is putting coffee in front of me. “Thank you,” I say, and he grunts back.
A chime goes off on Carrick’s phone, and he informs us what it says. “Lucien is on his way up with the healer.”
“Lucien,” I say in surprise, sitting up a bit straighter. It’s the brother I haven’t met yet.
Subconsciously, I smooth my hair down a bit because I know, without a doubt, that he’s going to be as good-looking as Maddox, who, in my opinion, is just slightly less gorgeous than Carrick. My hand comes away with a shard of glass stuck to it, which I pluck off and set on the counter.
We can hear elevator doors slide open, causing Carrick and me to swivel our stools to watch as Lucien comes into the kitchen with the healer.
My first shock is not in Lucien’s appearance, but in the fact he has Stan the Light Fae with him, held tightly by the scruff of his neck. When they step into the kitchen, Lucien gives him a hard shove, and Stan stumbles forward several feet before righting himself.