Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,84
make sure you understand the threat, and I need to teach you how to deal with it—how to fight a werewolf. That’s all.”
She’d known that. But she’d still flipped out. And the more she flipped out, the more her reaction—not his—terrified her.
He dipped the cloth into the water, squeezed it, lathered it up and wiped the back of her neck. “You picked up some dirt in the forest.”
She bent her head forward, letting him wash. He moved down her back, moving in slow circles, the rough cloth sloughing away the night. Her eyes started to close.
He leaned her back against the tub, setting her head on the edge, then washed her shoulders. “I know I left you once.”
She opened her mouth, wanting to say it didn’t matter, it was forgotten. But it wasn’t.
“I know I hurt you.”
Again, she wanted to argue. But she couldn’t.
“I know I said I won’t leave again, but I also know that’s not enough, and that the only way you’re going to trust that I won’t leave is if I don’t.”
He slid the cloth over her arms. “If this ends, Hope, it won’t be me that ends it. I think you know that.”
She twisted in the tub, rising, put her arms around his neck and kissed him. He scooped her up, dripping water, and carried her into the other room.
ROBYN
Robyn had been standing at the hotel bedroom door for ten minutes, her fingers on the handle as she listened for sounds from the other side.
Last night, she’d been too tired to ask questions and had used that as an excuse to herself for not asking. But, her first thought on waking had been I have to know.
She’d showered, dressed, made the bed and was now stalled at the door to the main room, where Hope and Karl were sleeping.
She counted to three. Then to five. Then told herself, on the count of ten, she absolutely would—
Goddamn it, just open it!
She knocked. It took a moment before she heard Hope’s sleepy “come in.” She cracked open the door. Hope was alone on the sofa bed, sitting up, blinking at the empty space beside her.
Robyn pointed at the closed bathroom door, light shining under it. “
I think he’s in there.”
Hope nodded. She looked at Robyn, then her gaze dipped away. Karl came out of the bathroom. Hope murmured something, then slipped in behind him. The door closed.
Robyn looked at that door, wondering what was up with Hope this morning. A rough night, she supposed. After their ordeal, she couldn’t blame her.
“Good morning, Robyn,” Karl said.
She managed a response. He crossed to the desk and picked up the room service menu. Robyn stayed where she’d stopped, watching him leaf through it.
She thought of what the other man had said Karl was, and even if she couldn’t bring herself to form the word, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop hearing his snarl from last night. Couldn’t stop seeing the pulsing rage in his face. Couldn’t forget the other man’s face, pulsing with something else, contorting, changing . . .
“That fair last night, it didn’t have a freak show, did it?” Karl asked, still reading the menu.
“What?”
“Freaks. The Bearded Lady. The Three-legged Man. The Lobster Boy. Pay a dollar to see the freak?”
“Um, no, I didn’t see . . .”
“But you’ve seen exhibits like that before. Hope says you like fairs, particularly small, out-of-the-way ones where the questionable qualities of a freak show might be more acceptable.”
“Sure . . .”
He glanced up. “Have you ever paid your dollar?”
“No, never. I—”
“When you see the signs, though, do you ever consider what it would be like to be the person inside that tent? On display? With everyone staring, satisfying their morbid curiosity, wondering how you live, how awful it would be to be you . . .”
“I . . .” She stopped, realizing what he was getting at. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . gawk.”
“Personally? I don’t care.” He set the menu back on the desk. “But Hope does. She’s already uncomfortable. Having her friend gaping at her like she’s on display . . .”
Was that why Hope ducked into the bathroom? Robyn didn’t think she’d been gaping, but she must have been looking at her differently, thinking, wondering . . .
“I want to know,” Robyn said.
“Hmm.” He plucked his jacket from a chair back. “Room service is apparently not one of this hotel’s strengths. Tell Hope I went out to find a more suitable breakfast.”