Frost shrugs. “I’m always in pain. A little more doesn’t make a differenc
e.”
His words hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer, just like they did when we spoke in the mad witch’s makeshift library. That sick, yawning pit of sympathy opens inside me, and I don’t respond, because I don’t want him to know how much his words affect me. He’s so simple and matter-of-fact about being in pain all the time. Like it doesn’t even faze him.
But the reality fazes me. My heart aches to know what he lives with on a daily basis.
Don’t get soft, Amora, I warn. But the reminder doesn’t have the bite it normally does.
They’ve all shown me a different side of them. In a different light, it almost feels like I can change them.
And that’s an even more dangerous thing.
We pull off the interstate in a town slightly larger than the last one. Kian leads us away from the small business strip and into a neighborhood of single-story Spanish-style homes set far apart from one another. It’s a nice area—professionally landscaped, clean kept, sporting slightly more expensive vehicles in the driveway. Kian motions for us to stay behind, then he disappears into the neighborhood for a good twenty minutes.
I doze against Frost’s back on the side of the road. My head feels like it’s three times the proper size, and the road rash on my thigh burns like my bones are on fire. The injury in my arm wasn’t really bothering me until I had to hang on to Frost on the back of his bike, but now that we’ve stopped, it’s almost numb with pain.
Kian finally returns and crooks a finger at us as he circles around the street. Frost turns on the engine and we follow, heading deeper into the neighborhood.
After a few turns, we end up on a cul-de-sac that juts up to a decorative line of trees that separates the houses from the desert. Kian rolls right up into a driveway like he owns the place, and Frost and Malix follow him without comment.
We park at the back of the house next to one of those ridiculous wooden patios that has open beams instead of a damn roof. The kind of dumb rich person purchase that always makes me wonder if they’ve got brains at all. When I’m on a patio, I’d like to have some actual shade and some actual protection from the elements. How the hell are you supposed to drink a beer in the rain if it’s pouring right through the beams?
Frost cuts the engine, then climbs off first and offers me a helping hand.
I ignore it. No use letting the whole touchy-feely thing drag out.
Kian walks up to the back door. It’s a verandah door—no deadbolt, just one of those curly handles that can be ripped right off by a shifter. Which is what he does, breaking the handle away from the doorframe, then shoving it open.
“Guy left for work,” he says gruffly. “Suit and tie, probably heading for a nine-to-five somewhere. We’ll eat, get some rest, then keep moving before he gets home.”
I limp into the living room, glancing around at the whitewashed walls and bland decor. Place looks more like a rental property than a home, but what do I know? I collapse onto the tan leather couch and hook my boots off with my toes before I curl up on my side and close my eyes.
A few moments pass as I sink into the cool, comfortable cushions and the darkness behind my eyelids. I listen to the guys move around the house and hope they aren’t about to rob this poor guy blind, then realize I don’t fucking care. I just want to sleep and feel better.
A rustling sound next to me forces my eyes open a minute later. I blink at a set of turquoise blue eyes set in a fluffy little white face.
A cat.
She sits on the coffee table beside my head, staring at me with her ears perked. Her long white fur is splotched with black, cinnamon, and ginger in the typical calico pattern.
“Uh. Hi,” I murmur. “Sorry to intrude.”
At the sound of my voice, she instantly begins to purr.
I growl and close my eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, really?”
The purr gets louder, and I feel the cushions shift as her little paws pad toward me. Then the little bitch curls up in the curve of my abdomen. Still purring.
I’m too tired to argue.
“Made a friend, I see,” Kian notes, his deep voice rumbling into my ear.
I open my eyes again, thinking I’d much prefer it to be a second fucking cat than him. He’s settling on the edge of the coffee table with a clear plastic box marked by the first aid symbol.
“Yup. We’re besties now,” I mutter. “Don’t tell Malix. I’ll never live it down.”
“Too late,” he grunts, cocking a thumb over his shoulder.