Storm Born Page 0,84

of bed, but I was in his way. I laid a restraining hand on his chest.

"No, it's all right. He's here for our next lesson. Jesus...I can't believe it's that time already." I'd lost a lot of time since the car.

Dorian wore his usual simple but fine clothes, covered by another elaborate robe. This one was black satin, edged in silver and small seed pearls. If the present circumstances surprised him, he didn't show it. He kept his face typically unimpressed and sardonic. His smile twisted as he regarded us.

"I can come back later if it's more convenient. I do so hate to interrupt."

"No, no," I said hastily, sitting up and swinging my legs over the bed's edge. The movement uncomfortably tugged the skin around my stitches. "We were just, um...resting."

Dorian arched an eyebrow. "You rest in that?"

I glanced down, flushing. I'd worn this exactly once when Dean and I had gone to Mexico for a weekend. The nightgown was pale green, its top and bottom hems ornamented with elaborate green leaves and tiny pink flowers. The mid-thigh-length skirt was sheer chiffon. Note to self: Never let Kiyo dress me again, unconsciousness notwithstanding.

Tim chose that moment to walk in, summoned by the noise. "Eug, what..."

His mouth dropped - and not just because of me. I looked around at us all: me in my nightgown, Kiyo bare-chested, Dorian in his extravagant robes, and Tim in his Native getup.

"God," I muttered, standing up, "we look like the Village People."

I pulled the terry cloth robe over me, wondering how I always seemed to be half-naked lately. Tim continued to stare, wearing the shocked look of one who has just walked in on his parents having sex.

"Everything's fine," I told him. He still didn't move, and I waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey, wake up. Think you can make some breakfast?"

He blinked. "It's three in the afternoon."

I gave him a pathetic look. The familiarity of it seemed to snap him back to normal. He could never resist it. That, or he felt he owed me food for the free rent.

"What do you want?"

"Eggs and toast."

"Healthy or unhealthy toast?"

I considered. "Healthy."

"Are your, uh, friends eating too?"

I glanced at the other two men.

"I'd love to," replied Dorian with a cordial half-bow. "Thank you."

"Famished," said Kiyo, eyes still narrowed on Dorian.

"Thanks, Tim, you're the best." I practically pushed him out the door.

"Charming man," remarked Dorian politely. He glanced around. "And a charming room." The broken table aside, the room's other contents included: a pile of laundry, the wicker chair, a case of ammunition, a dresser, and a small desk with my laptop and a half-finished puzzle of the Eiffel Tower. The room didn't have a lot of space, so everything had been jammed in. It all seemed so chintzy compared to the opulence of his bedroom.

Kiyo also got out of bed, wearing just a pair of jeans. "You want to tell me again what's going on?"

"I already did." I opened my dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt that said I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT on it. "We're doing my next lesson."

"She can't do it today," Kiyo told Dorian. "She was in a fight last night."

"Unless I'm mistaken, she gets in a fight every night."

"This one was bad. She was injured. Didn't you see the stitches?"

"My humble eyes had better things to occupy themselves with than her stitches."

"Hey, guys?" I snapped. "I'm still here, you know. Stop talking about me in the third person."

Kiyo walked over and touched my arm. "Eugenie, this is crazy. You need to go back to bed."

"Today's lesson will not require physical exertion," said Dorian primly.

"There, you see?" I said. "I've got to keep going with our deal."

Kiyo looked darkly from me to Dorian. "Your 'deal' doesn't seem to be doing a lot of good. I thought it was going to keep your would-be rapists away."

I had turned my back to them, opened the robe, and started pulling my jeans on. I froze, considering.

"The fachan wasn't trying to rape me," I said slowly. "He wanted to kill me."

"Are you sure?"

"He tried to throw me through a windshield. That's not very romantic."

"A fachan?" asked Dorian.

I shed the robe and nightgown and pulled the shirt over my head before turning back around to face them. I gave Dorian the short version of what had happened.

He stood up from where he'd been leaning against my desk and strolled over to the window, hands clasped behind his back.

"A