Page 63 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

“Did you finish all your stuff?” She yawns again. “Are you free again?”

This time, I find myself yawning back. “Everything urgent has been handled. Once you take a job like mine, you never really finish. There are always new problems that crop up, and there’s always more to decide.”

“Why are you here—in the United States, I mean?” She rolls onto her side, stuffing a pillow underneath her head.

“There was a weapon being prepared here, to turn on me.” I watch her carefully, waiting for a reaction. One call from her mother or stepfather, and she might already know. I’ve been wondering when that might happen. They might be the architects of our connection. For all I know, Izzy’s also in on it, but I don’t think so. She was far too shocked when I shifted. “I came to disarm it.”

“And did you?” She narrows her eyes. “Are you safe, now?”

I shake my head slowly. “I—I didn’t disarm it. But the people who were creating it, they took a misstep. Instead of firing on me, they powered me up.”

“How?”

“Context,” I say. “I’ll get there, but I have more to tell you first.”

“Last night.” She closes her mouth and frowns.

“Last night?” I like where this is going. “I almost slept on the couch, but after everyone left, you looked so. . .peaceful. I don’t often pass peaceful nights, and I couldn’t quite resist the draw of sleeping beside you. I hope you’re not upset.”

“That you slept here?” She sits up and pulls the blankets up under her armpits. “I guess I should be.” She frowns. “You could have slept on the sofa instead.”

“I didn’t bond us,” I say. “It’s not my fault we’re stuck together. And I haven’t done anything horrible since we met.”

“I’d call incinerating two men pretty horrible.” She shakes her head as if to clear the image. “And they were trying to harm us, but. . .”

“But what?”

“Maybe it’s because you were sleeping so close.” Her brow furrows again.

“What’s because of that?”

“I had a dream last night,” she says. “A really strange dream.”

I can’t help my smile. “Was I wearing clothes in this strange dream?”

She slams me with a pillow. “Stop.”

I shrug. “I guess we didn’t have the same dream.”

Her gasp is so cute.

“Tell me about yours.” I sit up and fold my arms. “I’ll be good.”

She blinks. “You’re—you’re not wearing.” She clears her throat and turns away. “You’re not wearing a shirt. Are you wearing. . .” She coughs.

“I’m wearing pants,” I say. “And I had a shirt on last night, but I get hot when I sleep. Sometimes I yank things off.”

“But not your pants, right?” She clears her throat and hops out of bed, still wearing the flowy dress she had on yesterday, and hunts around until she finds my pale blue t-shirt, discarded in a heap on the floor. She chucks it at my head. “Here. Put that back on.”

I’m laughing, but I pull it on dutifully, and then I pat the bed. “Sit, and speak.”

“I think we should go out into the mountains where no one else is around that we can hurt, and we should check out what we can do—what you can do.” She nods. “We can talk about all of this out there. Away from. . .” She’s glaring at the bed like it might bite her.

LikeImight bite her.

She’s probably not wrong to be wary. I am a little ferocious when there’s something I want, and the more time I spend around her, the more Iwant. “Fine.” I climb out of the soft, fluffy blankets and straighten, stretching. “I’m going to shower. You’re welcome to do the same.”

She blushes bright pink. “I’m not—I know I was touching your face, but it wasn’t that kind of dream.”

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