Page 32 of Bones

My question wasn’t aimed at her, but Victoria barked her affirmative anyway. Usually, she would race into the kitchen to wait by her bowl, but she went slower that time, bounding back to the woman and then forward again.

“I was talking to you,” I clarified, offering my hand to her. When she took it, I pulled her to stand but didn’t back away or release my hold.

I couldn’t.

Feed her.

“Are you hungry?” I repeated gruffly past the compulsion threatening to choke me. When she nodded, I thought about what I had to offer. “Do you like chili?”

Another nod.

“I’ll get a fire going first so you can warm up.” I started for the living room, but she tugged my hand. Stopping immediately, I looked at her.

She lifted the hem of her dress a little, showing more of her calf.

Maybe the Puritans were on to something, and some visible ankle is enough to make a man sin.

I dragged my attention from her leg to the soaked and dirty fabric she showed me. “Don’t give a shit if you sit on my furniture with muddy clothes, but I can give you something to change into if you’d be more comfortable.”

Even if that means I’ll be uncomfortable since the sight of you in my clothes will make me hard enough to split logs without my axe.

She made her eyes wide as she slowly nodded for emphasis.

I chuckled. “You want to shower?”

She did it again, somehow more dramatic that time.

“Hold on.” Going through the living room, I climbed the spiral staircase into the loft where my bedroom was and grabbed my thickest sweatpants, a tee, and a hoodie for her before returning to find her right where I’d left her. I handed her the load and pointed over her shoulder. “Bathroom is the second door on the left.”

She gave me a small smile before rushing off.

After I started fires in the living room and the bedroom, I came down to Victoria’s pissy barking. “I know, I know. You’re wasting away with only dry food.” I dumped a container of the expensive-as-shit wet food—the only one she deemed worthy—onto the dry food in her automatic feeder so she would eat both. I moved to the sink to wash my hands and could almost see the ink fading before my eyes.

Refresh these or let them disappear… Another decision to add to my list.

Normal tattoos didn’t leave a trace on my skin. I needed to use a special blend of ink to make it work, but even that eventually disappeared.

It worked in my favor. Changing tattoos helped when it was time for a new identity. I would still be disappointed when it wastime to say goodbye to the tattoo of the sunrise over the tree line that covered my entire arm. It was my favorite piece in a long line of many.

Dumping the leftover chili into a pot on the stove, I scowled down at it.

Logically, I knew that my ability to cook for her wasn’t an indication of my worthiness as a mate, but that wasn’t what my culinary ego said. The chili would have to do since there was no way in hell I was making her wait. Not when she wasempty.

While it warmed, I hurriedly cleared off the small table that was a catch-all for whatever shit I tossed on it then made a quick pico, shredded three different cheeses, and grabbed the sour cream from the fridge.

Be better if I had fancy bowls to put everything into, but these deli containers from Black Horse will do.

For the love of angels, I’m still fucking nervous.

“What else do we need?” I muttered. Wiping my hands on the towel hanging from my waistband, I stepped back and nearly tripped on the woman. “Shit, sorry. How long have you been there?”

The side of her mouth curved up, and she pointed at me before moving her hand to mimic talking.

In every kitchen I’d worked in—and there’d been a fuck lot of them—people always said that I talked to myself more than I spoke to everyone else combined.

I chuckled. “So I’ve been told.”

I grabbed one of the three mismatched bowls I owned, ladled chili into it, and handed it to her.

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