What did I want? I don't fucking know, I thought, my gaze searching his. Or rather, I did know, but I just didn't have the courage to reach for it when he was the one person who had my back no matter what I did. And right now, that was more valuable to me than whatever this was between us.
I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath, and said, "Right now, I really want a shower and fresh clothes. Then I need to meet Jak."
He didn't say anything for several heartbeats—which wasn't that long given just how fast my heart was beating—then he inclined his head slightly. Conceding to what lay unspoken rather than what had been said.
"What hotel?"
I shrugged. "I'm known for my five-star tastes, so we're probably better off going to someplace like the BreakFree on Little Bourke Street."
The words were barely out of my mouth when his power surged around us, sweeping us quickly through the gray fields before re-forming us inside a bathroom. Two women were standing at the washbasins, but neither paid any attention to us. He was obviously taking care of that, too.
He released me and stepped back, and something deep inside mourned the loss of his closeness. "I thought you might like to wash the blood away before you check in."
I glanced at the mirror and saw the blood streaking my face and matting one side of my hair. I grimaced, turned on the taps, and ducked my head under the water, rinsing my hair, then scrubbing my face and neck. As the two women walked out, I hit the dryer button, flicked the nozzle upward, and finger-dried my hair—wincing several times in the process as my fingertips caught the smaller cuts on my head. At least short dark hair had its good points—it didn't take long to dry, and you couldn't see the blood that was still weeping from the other wounds.
"I don't suppose you want to do me a favor?" I said, as I turned around. He merely raised an eyebrow, so I added, "I have a bag of spare clothes and basic toiletries sitting in my locker at the café. Could you go grab it?"
He nodded, and disappeared so quickly I was tempted to think he'd been looking for an excuse to distance himself. I rang my mechanic to pick up the Ducati as I walked over to the reception desk, then booked a room for a couple of nights and headed up to it. A long hot shower didn't do a whole lot to ease the aches, and if the bruises already beginning to appear were anything to go by, I was going to have a rainbow adorning the left side of my body come tomorrow.
My bag was waiting for me on the floor near the towels once I'd finished. I frowned, wondering how he'd gotten in here without my sensing him, then shrugged and got dressed.
He was standing at the room's one window, his hands clasped behind his back and Valdis burning with a muted reddish yellow fire. He didn't say anything or turn around, so I walked across to the bed, grabbed my phone out of my purse—which thankfully had survived the crash relatively unscathed—and rang Ilianna.
"Hey there," she said. "I was getting worried about you."
The vid-screen wasn't showing a picture. I frowned and pressed the MODE button, figuring it might have somehow gotten switched in the accident, but it made no difference. Which meant I'd be looking for a new phone in the near future—just what I needed on top of everything else.
"Yeah, sorry, but it looks like I won't make it there tonight."