The Last Warrior (Shifters Unbound #13) - Jennifer Ashley Page 0,19
New Orleans where we can sample some of its fabulous food.”
Tiger gave a faint shake of his head. “I will return home to my mate and cubs.”
“I don’t blame you, big guy. Going home to Kim and my sweet Katriona sounds fine, now that I think about it. I’ll take them all out when we get there. Austin has great food too.”
He waved at Ben and Rhianne both and sauntered to his bike. No, swaggered to it. Liam had perfected the move.
Dylan had already started his motorcycle, straddling it easily as he waited for his son and Tiger. Liam mounted his bike and let it roar to life, revving it to be obnoxious.
Tiger and Rhianne exchanged a glance, then Tiger turned without a word and joined Dylan and Liam.
Not long later, the three swerved their motorcycles in graceful curves and glided down the drive toward the road. A warm breeze, scented with exhaust, brushed Ben and Rhianne in their wake.
Rhianne’s hand was in Ben’s again. How did that happen? Never mind, Ben told himself. He’d roll with it.
“Food sounds like a good idea.” Ben kept his voice light, but his throat was dry for some reason. “How about I take you into New Orleans, and we have a night on the town?”
Rhianne scanned the bright blue sky. “We just had breakfast. Is it still morning? Or does time move differently here?”
“A day and a night make twenty-four hours as humans mark time. More or less. The days are a little shorter than in Faerie, but not much. You get used to it. In other words, it’s morning and will be for another hour or so.”
“Then how do we have a night on the town if it’s morning?” Rhianne sounded genuinely confused. “How do you have a night on a town? Perhaps I am not translating correctly.”
Ben squeezed her hand. “You heard right. In New Orleans, you do have a night on the town—on the streets, on the rooftops, on the tables. Partying is an art form there.”
Rhianne’s slight frown told him she took the words literally. “It sounds very interesting.”
Ben grabbed her around the waist in a quick hug. “It is, sweetheart. Stick with me, kid. We’ll have an awesome night.”
Rhianne flicked through the selection of clothes in the large closet of the bedroom Ben had ushered her to, contemplating the paradox of human clothing, which was both simple and complex. The Tuil Erdannan had all kinds of different garments to hang on bodies, but humans had it down to only a few shapes—leggings and tunics, skirts and one-piece dresses.
However, within those shapes, Rhianne discovered amazing choices. Fabric from thin stretchy material like that of the tunic she wore—Ben called it a T-shirt—to tissue-thin lamé to pliable soft leather to silky fabric that shimmered. All kinds of patterns seemed to be possible: flowers, stripes, abstract shapes with soft outlines. Humans had clothes in every color imaginable.
Rhianne found the leggings she already wore very comfortable, but Ben said she needed something fancier. He told her that the comfortable leggings and jacket were called sweats, because in theory, humans sweated in the clothing when they went running.
“Running from what?” Rhianne asked him.
Ben had laughed and waved her to the closet.
Lady Aisling sometimes brought home human clothes from her trips to Paris or Milan. She and Rhianne had fun trying them on and sometimes Lady Aisling would wear them to fancy-dress parties. The experiments helped Rhianne now to choose an outfit.
The ladies who stored their clothes in this large closet had diverse tastes. Ben had pointed out who owned what. The woman called Jasmine wore colorful shirts and subdued skirts that must fit her closely. The Shifter Jaycee liked black leather, leopard prints, and anything glittery.
Rhianne took her time and put together an ensemble she liked. She started with a flowing, silky tunic in a rich blue that skimmed over a tiny satin white camisole beneath it. On bottom she’d chosen leggings of blackest leather whose outside seams were trimmed with a bright pink satin stripe studded with glinting stones.
Ben had showed her stockings and the array of shoes Jaycee and Jasmine had collected. Rhianne decided on a flat pair of slippers from Jasmine’s side—they fit the best, though a trifle small.
She moved to the bathroom to comb out and re-braid her hair. Peering at herself in the mirror, she supposed she didn’t look too awful. The bath had helped, though she thought she’d never wash away the grime from Walther’s horrible cell.