Page 76 of Heir of Ashes

Logan tapped his fingernail on the table, thinking. “Lee wouldn’t have lied about what she told you. She can’t. It’s more than what anyone has ever known before. Archer would want to know that.”

I nodded once, my doubt not quite masked.

Logan squeezed my hand briefly. “Look, Roxanne, let me be honest with you here. If Archer wanted to get rid of you, he’d have helped you meet a mysterious accident, just to prevent exposure to the clan. He’s capable of that, yes, and the fact that you are here, alive and well after nine years with the Society, tells me there’s something missing, something big.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, betraying the weariness he’d been trying hard to hide. “All I’m asking is that you not judge Archer until we talk to him, alright?”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request, and I conceded the point. After a quiet moment, he got up, reheated the soup, and brought me another large mug.

This time I sipped it slowly and wished there were noodles, vegetables, or chicken pieces in it.

We didn’t say anything for a long time. Logan sat across from me, staring at the wall as though lost in memory, his hands—the right one still wrapped in the wet towel—curled around the cup of cold coffee.

“When do we leave?”

He looked at me, eyes focusing. “You sure you’re up to it?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You don’t have to. You can stay here until I return with Archer. After that, we’ll help you with everything you need.”

I shook my head. If anything, accompanying him on this rescue mission was now necessary. “I go with you; I’ll accept the help. You don’t want me along, I’ll move on my own from here. Maybe you’re right about Archer, but if you’re wrong, I’d rather he owe me than the other way around.”

Logan studied me for a moment more, his expression unreadable. “Very well then; we’re leaving in a few hours.”

I looked down and finished the rest of the hot soup. My bladder was beginning to protest again. A door opened and closed somewhere in the house, and footsteps approached, stopping just a few feet behind my chair. Logan’s eyes shifted to a point above and behind me. I didn’t have to turn to see who it was—I could smell the faint musk of Rafael’s cologne, along with his sour disapproval, like rancid gas filling the room. Logan excused himself and left, followed by Rafael’s muffled steps on the hardwood.

Chapter 23

I found both Logan and Rafael in the hallway arguing. Their voices were only a decibel above a whisper, but I heard Rafael’s comment loud and clear. He wanted me to hear him.

“ … Doug won’t be coming for a few days. She can stay that long.”

His eyes shifted to me, took in my bare legs, and he smiled shark-like, his brown eyes cold. “You shouldn’t come with us. As a matter of fact,” he added in a decisive tone, “you aren’t. You will stay here, safe and sound, until we come back with Archer.”

“But Mom, I don’t want to stay,” I whined.

“Honey, if you insist, I can tie you up inside a cage with nothing but a bowl for water and another for shit.” His smile grew at the narrowing of my eyes, and before I could slash his face and make that smug smile permanent from ear to ear, Logan stepped in front of me and raised his hands up to Rafael.

“I told you, man, if she wants to come, then she will. Remember Rob and the swamps? Same goes here.”

Incredibly, Rafael backed off. With a hiss and tightening of lips, but he backed off. He turned his back on us, storming down the narrow hallway before slamming a door shut behind him.

I was curious about the story behind Rob and the swamps, but smart enough not to ask. You didn’t pry into other people’s businesses unless you wanted to return the favor. So I gave Logan a tentative smile and headed for the bathroom.

When I emerged, freshly showered but wearing the same sweaty t-shirt, the hallway was empty. For that matter, I couldn’t hear or sense anyone nearby.

I went back to the room I woke up in, drying my hair with the towel I found in the bathroom closet. My hair was all tangled; there was no conditioner, and I couldn’t find a brush. All the nightstand drawers were empty. At the sound of soft footsteps, I raised my head and found Logan just outside the room, my duffel bag slung over his arm.

“May I come in?”

“Sure, it’s your house,” I said, meeting him halfway through and relieving him of my bag. After setting it on the bed, I dug out my purse and hairbrush from inside.

“Let me,” he offered, plucking the brush from my hand without waiting for an answer. He sat on the edge of the bed, across from the straight-back chair, and waited.

I hesitated a second, but he didn’t notice. Or chose not to. I turned the back of the chair to him before sitting. There was no way that I was going to straddle it wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt.

When his fingers grazed the nape of my neck, I stifled an involuntary shiver. He draped my hair over the back of the chair and began brushing it gently, untangling each lock with care. The motion was soothing, a tender caress.

It was comfort he offered.

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