Page 20 of Prodigy & Tybalt
“Ignoring that,” I murmured, crossing the pavement towards the bookshop and pulling open the door. Tybalt wasnotkeepingme. Even if the burning void inside me softened and soothed and… the pain eased just a little.
“Slow down, Private,” Prodigy called as I rushed into the shop, eager for a distraction.
He closed the door with care and caught up to me. He did everything with that, I noticed—care. He was careful and considerate and damned observant. I doubt there was anything that happened in the Knights’ compound that Prodigy didn’t know about. Barclay. I wasn’t sure what to make of him telling me his non-biker name. It seemed significant.Andhe’d brought me to a bookshop, and told me he would cover the price of what I bought.Andhe gave me a knife, and hadn’t crossed any boundaries other than the ones my scent and body language were screaming at him to cross.
I sighed. “It’s Miraya. My name.”
“Miraya,” he repeated, slowly, savouring the feel of it on his tongue. Fuck, I shouldn’t have been thinking about his tongue. Gods damn these hormones. “Well, come on, ray of light, there’s a whole bookshop at your disposal. What are you buying first?”
I gave him a healthy dose of side-eye at the name, but there was no denying the flurry of butterflies in my stomach. I liked it a lot. I likedwarrior,too. Liked the men who called me those names a little too much.
I bit back a sigh. This wouldn’t end well, but the dreamer in me resurrected from the dead to point out that couples met in strange circumstances every day. Just because we had such a crappy start, it didn’t mean we couldn’t build something real.
Not that we were a couple. A throuple, more like.
“What are you thinking about?” Prodigy asked, startling me.
“Nothing,” I replied far too quickly, aiming blindly for a row of bookshelves and pretending to read their spines. I moved on quickly when I realised they were cookbooks. For the sake of all humanity, I’d leave cooking to the experts.
“Good afternoon,” a warm, alpha’s voice wrapped around me when we emerged from the first row of stacks to find tables displaying new releases and bestsellers, and a woman in a dress patterned with ladybirds and ferns sitting behind a counter. Her smile pushed a pair of stylish red glasses up her cheeks. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, mentally giving the middle finger to my designation when the woman’s attention made my skin itch and burn, the heat crawling through me.
I jumped when Prodigy’s hand wrapped the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking my skin once, twice, unravelling all the snarling tension in me. I sighed and gave him a stern look, but he was canvassing the bookshop, his gaze sweeping over the different sections.
“Where first?” he asked.
“Over there,” I replied, pointing at a hanging sign that listed fantasy, sci-fi, and adventure books.
He didn’t let go of me the whole time we crossed the shop, his touch allowing me to draw more air into my lungs, inhaling the scent of paper and ink and escapism like it would purge the heat from my system.
“Get anything you want,” he said when I began browsing the shelves, pulling books out to peruse their blurbs. “I mean it, Miraya. Anything you want.”
I batted him off. I was hardly going to buy the entire store; I’d find the one I wanted most and get that. And later, when I was able to go home, I’d pay him back.
But whenever I put a book back on the shelf, he plucked it up. Started a pile in his arms. He did that three times before I put my hands on my hips and turned to scowl at him.
“What?” he asked, perfectly innocent. “I like the cover.”
“Sure. And the other two?”
“Great titles.”
“Prodigy,”I huffed.
He smirked. “Miraya.”
Now, I was glaring, my eyes narrowed.“Barclay.”
He smiled so wide that it took over his whole face, setting his hazel eyes glittering, making him look so much younger. Like a whole different person. “Yes, dear?”
I jabbed him in the side, and fought back a swoon when I met solid, unyielding muscle. “Put them back.”
“Or what? What are you gonna do, ray of light?”
“That’s the least accurate name in the history of nicknames,” I retorted, eyeing the three books in his arms. I guessed Icouldget all of them, if he was insisting…
“It’s the most accurate,” he argued, a little bite to his voice that made my blood spark and come alive. I lifted my gaze to find his expression a little soft, a little stern. “You burst into our lives like sunlight, and you’ve lit a fire in Tyb that I’ve never seen before. And without getting sentimental, because you might stab me in the kidney—”
