Page 67 of Shades of Silver City

“You—” I bite down the curse I know he’s trying to goad out of me. “She was practically your sister.”

“Fuck no she wasn’t. She was your sister, and if you think I ever once thought of her like that, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Instead of letting him rile me up, I take a deep, steadying breath and respond with an, “Enjoy your solitude.”

We both need it.

I have no idea what to expect with Tasia staying with me. I’m sure she noticed I’ve been gone all night and day, and even though her opinion shouldn’t matter, I do care what she thinks. I feel guilty for leaving her on her own for so long. Hopefully she was able to distract herself with the art supplies.

Godric chuckles, offering me a “Good night and good luck,” and retreats across my yard toward his parked SUV, his shoes squishing atop the freshly watered lawn. I watch his broad shoulders disappear into the darkness. The moonlight glints off his vehicle as he drives away, and I turn back toward my door.

When I enter my house, I’m greeted by silence. Exhaling heavily in gratitude, I drop to a knee and untie my boots. Though I’m envious Godric is going to spend extra time in the greenhouse—time I could use to recharge and ground myself as well—I didn’t have it in me to abandon Tasia another night. I was hoping to see her at least for a minute when I dropped off the food last night, but I couldn’t stay. Not when my team was down in the city center working to find the truth about these recent deaths.

Groaning, I swipe a hand over my face. Godric thinks it’s sexual tension between me and Tasia, but he doesn’t even know the half of it.

Good ol’ regular tension is more like it. I need to tell Tasia the truth about her dad’s possible connection to the recent spate of deaths…and soon.

I rise, shucking off my leather jacket and hanging it beside the door, and notice Scathe hasn’t come to greet me like he usually does. He’s uncharacteristically quiet today.

Frowning, I stride into the kitchen. I flick the switch beside the stove, and a pale light illuminates the kitchen counter.

There’s a pile of neatly stacked trash beside the sink—the takeout boxes in a paper bag. I rub my neck, and some of the tightness immediately subsides at the confirmation that Tasia ate the food I dropped off last night. It was…specially made to help her beat whatever cold or illness she’s been fighting.

My gaze snags on the art books I got her. One of them lies open on the floor. I crouch beside it. A portrait of Scathe stares back at me. My breath catches as I take it in. The color of his eyes is slightly off, his appearance more exaggerated than real life, but it’s an incredible piece.

She has real talent.

My fingers itch to sift through the pages, see if she’s worked on anything else, but it feels wrong. Though I’m no artist myself, art seems…personal to me. I’d rather her choose to share it with me of her own accord one day.

Quietly making my way upstairs, I head to my room. The door is cracked open. I gently push it open the rest of the way, and sure enough, I catch sight of a sleeping Tasia.

The room is almost pitch-black, but my vision is enhanced enough that I can make everything out with ease. Tasia is curled up in a ball on the bed, the sheets pulled up to her chin, with Scathe pressed against her back.

She looks so peaceful, so soft and innocent in her sleep.

Her mouth is relaxed, not held in the tight line it’s usually in. The lines of her face form a serene expression, as if she’s found solace in her dreams.

My heart rate picks up slightly, an unusual warmth blossoming in my stomach.

Scathe flicks his eyes open. The vivid orbs of icy blue glow in the dark as his admonishing words fill my head.

You left her all alone. She’s scared, worried, confused, and surprisingly, still thinks highly of you despite you running away!

Shame heats my face, my throat growing thick. I slowly nod in agreement.

I know, I think, using our connection to mindspeak. I’ll do better.

Fix it, Scathe tells me. He yawns, his eyes shutting as he nestles closer to Tasia. I like this one. Fix it.

Rooted in place, I stare at Scathe as he snuggles against the human girl I’m unraveling over.

It’s curious that the hound took to her so quickly. Normally he’s indifferent—at best—around humans.

And now, despite our soulbond, Scathe is at her side—protecting her, it seems.

My brow furrows. How in the Gods’ names has she won him over so quickly?

Shaking the odd feeling off, I stride to the bathroom, intending to grab a few products so I can shower in the spare bathroom. A pile of folded clothes on the floor snags my attention.

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