planned to come 'round. What if I had rigged a snare?"
I didn't answer, being too busy trying to figure out why, yet again, he looked so different. He shrugged out of the old brown leather coat, revealing a sun-faded green T-shirt and a pair of jeans. The jeans were pale blue, worn thin and smooth as silk, and loose enough to barely cling to the muscular swell of his hips. They were, in other words, the exact opposite of tight and black. His hair had also lost the spiky trendiness from the lobby. It appeared freshly washed, with bangs that needed a trim flopping into his eyes. The rest of him should have followed it into the shower: there were dark smudges all over his arms, popping the veins into relief, and one along his cheekbone.
"What have you been doing?" I asked, sitting up.
"Researching."
"In a coal mine?"
"Obscure magical texts are seldom found on hygienic computer files. Now, would you like to explain why you're here?"
I looked away before answering, having a hard time separating the regular, everyday Pritkin with the ill-fitting coat and the stupid haircut from the man who had kissed me. "I thought you'd be pleased to see me, after that scene in the lobby."
"What are you talking about?"
I didn't reply, having just registered a fact that felt important. As usual, Pritkin's T-shirt was crisscrossed with belts, sheaths and holsters. The guy was a walking arsenal, with almost every kind of portable weapon known to man. Except for one.
"You don't carry a sword," I said, something clicking in my brain.
Pritkin turned from hanging his coat in the closet, and Billy flowed over to begin ransacking it. I just hoped he did it quietly. "I don't need one, remember?"
I stared at him for a second, then leapt off the bed and grabbed him. I spun him around, trying to pull his shirt up at the same time. "What the—"
"Hold still," I said, struggling to get the buckles and straps undone, half of which seemed to have been designed simply to drive me nuts. Most of my adrenaline surges lately had resulted from life-or-death situations; it was a little disorienting to feel the same response to something that might actually be positive. But my heart had sped up until I could feel it in my throat and my hands were suddenly too clumsy to do the job. "Take your shirt off," I ordered, trying to keep my voice steady.
He turned, a half-quizzical, half-angry expression on his face. But to my surprise he didn't argue, stripping to the waist quickly and efficiently. I turned him back around and saw what I'd expected: a spill of bright color, gold and silver and rich blue-black, running from his shoulder down the length of one side.
My fingertips traced the slightly raised edges of the design, down warm skin and hard muscle, until stopped by the waistband of his jeans. I'd been a fool not to think of it before, especially as I'd watched part of it being carved into his skin. Pritkin didn't need to carry a sword anymore. He already had one, in the shape of a magical tattoo that manifested as a weapon whenever he chose.
"Thinking of getting another tat?" he asked, his voice oddly tight.
I didn't answer. His arm was braced against the wall, making the muscles stand out, and his back was tense. There was something mesmerizing about all that caged power so ruthlessly leashed, all that coiled strength so docile under my hands.
I watched two of my fingers dip below the loose, frayed waistband, still following the edge of the blade. The silky denim was warm from his body, and it gave way easily, baring a slight dimple just below the small of his back. I guess I knew why there hadn't been any underwear with his purchases, I thought hazily, as my fingers abandoned the sword to trace the tiny depression.
Pritkin suddenly spun and caught my wrist. "Careful," he said roughly. "Or have you forgotten what that geis of yours can do?"
And that was another mystery. There had been no warning rush of power in the lobby and there was none now, although there certainly should have been. Pritkin released me and I sat back down, feeling too warm and slightly disoriented. I couldn't seem to stop staring at his chest. The hair grew thick and dark gold over his biceps, but thinned to a dusky trail running down his stomach before disappearing below the jeans. It looked