Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3) - Nalini Singh Page 0,71

Until she knew when it would be renewed, if it would be renewed, she had to hoard her resources. But clothes were a necessity . . . to her body, and to her soul.

For the first time, Memory alone had made the decision on how she would dress.

Likely, delivery this deep into DarkRiver territory would take a few days at the very least; she didn’t imagine the cats permitted the drone drops advertised on several of the catalogs. She could be patient. She’d wash the sweats that Alexei had given her at the substation, wear them in conjunction with this set of clothing until she had her order.

As for her hair, she’d decided to wash it again, this time skipping the shampoo and using only great helpings of the tea-tree-oil-based conditioner Alexei had found for her. The strands remained a knotted mess—she’d taken great pride in tangling her hair to thwart and frustrate Renault—but it did feel better than before. She’d finger-combed her wet curls as much as she could before getting sore arms and promising herself she’d have another go tomorrow.

If she tied the mass back once it wasn’t so damp anymore, she could get away with it. It’d be far from pretty, but no longer did she look like she’d taken up keeping birds in her hair. That counted as a definite win. Smiling, she went into the kitchen and prepared coffee and toast. Sunshine poured in through the windows, but it was weak and soft. As if dawn hadn’t fully come.

Though the weather appeared to have a crisp edge to it, she decided to sit on the porch while she ate. When in the bunker, when in her prison, she’d often dreamed about small, everyday things that would be a wonder when done in freedom. Some dreams, however, had been beyond her comprehension.

She touched her fingers to her lower lip, still able to feel the imprint of Alexei’s kiss and the tug of that small, wicked bite. Her skin prickled with sensation, her cheeks flushing. Ready to battle him today until he stopped attempting to play knight protector—she knew who and what she wanted thank you very much—Memory picked up her breakfast and went to sit out on the porch. It had no railing, so she was able to sit on the edge with her feet on the ground; her intent was to watch the quiet waking of the compound.

She’d just taken her seat, her plate beside her but the mug yet in her hand, when she noticed a small box sitting off to one side of the front door. Putting down her mug on a wave of anticipation that one of her orders had somehow arrived, she dragged the box close.

Inside sat a pair of sparkly sneakers covered with multicolored sequins.

Her eyes went huge. They were wonderful.

Immediately shucking off the ugly blue trainers that Renault had forced her to wear, she pulled on the sneakers that fit perfectly and glittered even in the washed-out morning light. Only after she’d admired them for at least five minutes did her brain compute that she hadn’t ordered sparkly sequined sneakers.

She examined the box again and spotted a small piece of paper that she’d missed in her earlier excitement. It was covered by a black scrawl: I thought you might like these. Brand-new. Found them in the pack stores and they looked like they might fit you.

That was it. No signature. No other explanation. Yet she knew without a single doubt that it was Alexei who’d left the shoes for her. Because he thought she would like something pretty and shiny and new. Even though she’d yelled “Chicken!” at him when he left.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” she promised her golden wolf, “even if you threaten to eat me.” Bubbles of joy bursting inside her, she picked up her abandoned coffee and took in the compound.

The Arrows were difficult to see, ghosts in the mist, but a dark-skinned woman with a lovely oval face came out of the cabin directly across from Memory right then. She looked to be close to Memory’s age, but held herself with a confidence that Memory had never known.

“Hi!” A huge smile on the stranger’s face, her hand rising in a wave.

Memory’s stomach muscles clenched, but she waved back. She had no idea how empaths aside from Sascha would react to her.

“I’m Jaya,” her neighbor said when she reached Memory. “One of the teachers here—I was part of the first intake. We’re short on