sleep on the floor—he’s that much of a gentleman. Unless you feel like inviting him…in.”
My face burned more. But what was there to say? She was right. I could already see Henry insisting that he should sleep on the floor, and me insisting that he share the bed, and then... all kinds of trouble. Delicious, sweaty trouble. I struggled to find my dignity. “Maybe we should ask him. It’s his room and his sister, after all.”
“And you’re his mate,” Mercy said cheerfully. She turned and bolted up the stairs before I could formulate a response.
Deirdre followed her at a statelier pace, though she kept her voice low so no one would overhear. “We can pack your stuff up and move it to his room in preparation. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can just make Henry patrol all night.”
I really didn’t want them to send him away or make him work all night just to go along with the ridiculous story for his sister. But my insides shivered in excitement at the possibility of spending the night with Henry. I wanted him. I wanted to feel what it was like to lie next to him, to press my face against his chest or shoulder, to be warm and safe in the sheets with him.
But I tried to keep up the front of at least some misgivings as Mercy and Deirdre helped me surreptitiously move my stuff from the guest room at one end of the hall to the other side of the house and Henry’s room. I hadn’t been in there, of course, but I wouldn’t have guessed it was his room by anything in it except a pair of muddy boots near the door and a pile of jeans and T-shirts spilling out of a hamper in the closet. The furniture was plain and uninteresting, the kind of budget stuff that people bought for spare rooms.
Deirdre frowned as she glanced around. “I thought he’d done more to decorate in here.” When she saw the question in my eyes, the witch went on, “This was a spare room when my mother and I lived in the house, before I ever knew about shifters. We got the furniture and everything at a garage sale. Henry’s lived here for months, but it still feels like a spare room. Like he could pack up any minute and be gone.”
I knew how that felt—not wanting to invest anything of myself in a specific place, since I’d have to leave in a hurry anyway. I put my loom bag and the yarn stash I’d accumulated in a week on the floor, hopefully out of the way, and tried not to touch anything else. “It definitely smells like a dude lives here.”
She laughed. “I’ll find some scented candles to cut down on the guy funk.”
It wasn’t a gross smell, it was just…masculine. There definitely hadn’t ever been a scented candle in that room. I smiled a bit to myself, trying to imagine Henry picking between a lavender or freesia scent, and instead glanced over at Deirdre. “Pine or sandalwood, I’d guess.”
Mercy made a face and headed for the door. “Ugh. No way. I think I have some candles that are island cotton-scented or something not-flowery. He’ll deal with it just fine.”
My battered suitcase, quickly packed and zipped, almost tripped me as I moved to peer at the few items tossed across the top of the dresser. I was just about to joke with Deirdre about not being great at snooping when the door to the hall burst open and a dark shadow lurched into the room. Deirdre sucked in a breath and I tensed as power crackled around her. She readied magic and it immediately tangled with my power, starting a tornado that escalated.
I staggered back as the figure moved and the light fell across his face, and it was Henry, looking both irritated and confused, and Deirdre cursed as she relaxed her magic. I tried to do the same. I did. I really did. But I felt like a passenger on a runaway train as the magic continued building, compounding on itself, and then there was no controlling it. My hands clenched and the power burst out and slammed into Henry, ghosting past Deirdre though she managed to jump back.
He grunted in surprise, head tilted as he looked at me, and then he grimaced and his body twisted.
“Oh no,” I said, hands clapped over my mouth. Magic abandoned me until I felt empty and adrift.