Page 76 of The Thief

Lucian tapped it against the glass and then looked at me over his shoulder with those golden Chitah eyes. “Maybe it’s a raw diamond. I saw a show about gemstones.”

I sputtered with laughter. “Don’t I wish! That thing is huge. Where on earth would I get a diamond?”

My stomach knotted. Surely not.

He glanced at my walls. “Good point. Rich people usually pick rooms with windows.”

When I reached out, he tossed it in my hand. The pack knew Argento was looking for me and that I’d lost my memory, nothing more. That’s the way it needed to be… for now.

Lucian strode toward the door. Before walking out, he turned and said, “You should think about using air freshener. That new-car smell seems to have followed you in here.”

As I set the crystal back on the nightstand, Virgil strode in. When he saw us, he did a flying leap onto the bed, twirling midair so he landed on his back. “I didn’t realize we were having a party. Room for one more?” He laced his fingers across his stomach, his long hair spread out. “You should have painted the ceiling. That’s what I would have done. Like the Sistine Chapel.”

“I don’t want naked men staring at me while I sleep.”

He narrowed his turquoise eyes and gave me an elfin smile. “Of course you don’t.”

“It’s time for everyone to leave.” When I nudged his shoulder, he winced.

Virgil shot upright. “Careful. I still have needles in me.”

“Didn’t Salem get them all out? You were lathered in glue twice.”

He pulled off his T-shirt and brushed his fingers lightly over his shoulder. “They couldn’t get the tiny ones that barely stick up past the skin’s surface. They’re like miniature daggers from hell. I tried shifting, but they won’t come out. Sleeping in the nude was painful.”

“More than I wanted to know,” Bear said, rising to his feet. “I have to clean the kitchen before bed.” Bear lingered by the door and stared back at me.

Virgil continued examining his shoulder, oblivious as to what was transpiring.

Bear placed his hand over his heart, and I felt the warmth over my own. He winked before making a reluctant exit.

Virgil rolled onto his stomach. “Was I too early or late? I saw Lucian come in and thought you two were spicing things up.”

“You promised not to tell anyone. Can you keep that promise?”

“You’re worried about me spilling the beans?” The dimple in his cheek appeared when he smiled. “You practically gave everything away last night when you got home. I thought for sure you were going to give us all the dirty little details. You’re fun when you’re drunk on magic. Virgil Nightingale is all about fun.”

“Life isn’t a party.”

His enthusiasm waned. “Life is whatever you make of it.” After a long look, he finally said, “You never had anything to worry about with me. But I can see Bear’s attraction.”

“You don’t like short girls?”

He shrugged lightly. “Height isn’t a big deal. Short, tall—whatever. But long hair? That’s my kryptonite. And a nice ass.”

I glanced at his bare chest and then crawled to the other side of the bed. “I need privacy to look through my things. Get your prickly behind off my bed.”

“Suit yourself,” he said while rolling off the mattress. “But privacy is a facade. You’re never as alone as you think you are. Especially with Lucian’s cameras.”

After the door closed, I lifted a stack of papers from the second box and scattered them across the bed. These were remnants of my life that I’d only recently discovered when moving. With everything going on, I hadn’t had a chance to read through them, but before leaving Dallas, I had glanced at a few postcards. From the looks of it, most of the remaining contents in the box were letters my mother had written me over the years.

A pang of guilt sliced through my heart. Memories of home were so fresh they might as well have happened yesterday. But the letters were written to the old me, the me who had spent decades processing and dealing with her past. What conclusion had she come to about her upbringing and family? Had she forgiven them? Had they mended their relationship? Had she ever visited them?

I didn’t want to forgive my family, and that was a huge reason why I’d never read through the letters. It brought up a lot of resentment. Now that I had a new life, it was time to deal with the past, so I organized the letters by their postmark. The oldest ones were brown and falling apart, the paper so worn and delicate that they could easily disintegrate in my hands. They were also written in pencil, which made them difficult to read since they had faded over the years.

One at a time, I pored over the words, trying to decipher what I must have written to my mother beforehand and in reply. I only had half the puzzle, so I relied heavily on the tone of her letters.

I wasn’t especially close with my mama, but I still loved her. Yet the reason I left had to do with her toxic love. Both she and my father had put me—a child—in dangerous situations. Weren’t parents supposed to protect their children, not the other way around? My mama raised me with a firm hand, but that was common in those days. My granddaddy—her father—was the only one who had ever showered me with love, but as the letters went on, he had regretfully passed. Calvin reminded me a lot of him—hard around the edges but soft inside. Way inside. Past the exterior shell and deep in the center. I hadn’t seen Calvin’s soft side yet, only glimmers that it existed by the way he trusted me, a complete stranger, with his future.

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