Page 40 of Klaus

“I know.”

“And just because I didn’t show my fear, that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel it. We all did.”

I nodded. “I should’ve had more faith in you.”

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled. “I’ll only remind you of your poor judgment for the rest of our lives.”

* * *

He wasin bed when I entered his room, resting with his eyes closed and his injured leg elevated. When I closed the door behind me, his eyes opened.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t disturb me, in fact, I’d wondered what was taking so long for you to get here.” His smile was a thing of beauty. I could forgive his sarcasm in the light of that smile.

“You’re not the only one who enjoys chatting with my brother.”

His smile faded. “My tongue got away from me.”

“Evidently.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “He had more than a few things to say to me.”

“I’m sorry. We were alone, at any rate. He’s the only one who knows.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“So she’s back for good, then.”

“I see no reason why not. She’s finally back in my head. I can hear her in there, and I have to wonder why I ever thought I’d like the silence.”

He laughed. “There are times when I would do anything for just a moment of real silence. But I wouldn’t trade it.”

“Nor would I.” I looked down at his leg, still wrapped in a bandage. “How is your leg?”

“It’s still attached, which is a good sign.” He leaned forward and began to unwind the bandages. I watched him rather than watching what he was doing.

It was so clear for my dragon. As I’d lifted him while in her form, I’d known exactly what I was doing and why. I’d known he was mine to protect, just as he had come after me.

Had I begun overthinking things while the dragon was silent? It appeared that way. She knew just what to do, just what was right. What truly mattered. She didn’t think and doublethink and question her instincts. Why did I insist on doing that very thing, then?

“See? Good as new.” I looked down, and sure enough, there was barely an indication of any injury. Only a few faint holes to show where the bullets had pierced him.

They brought to mind the scar running down his cheek and made me wonder what had caused it. If bullet holes had healed well enough that I wouldn’t have known they were there without having watched the blood flow from them, why hadn’t his face?

“Where did this come from?” I asked, running a forefinger over my cheek before pointing to him.

He didn’t ask why I wanted to know, or—more likely, in my opinion—tell me it was none of my business. Instead, he leaned back against the pillows. “A fight with a bear. A very large, very angry bear.”

“Why was the bear so angry? And are we speaking of an actual bear or another shifter?”

“For the record, I consider myself an actual lion.”

“You know what I mean,” I replied with a scowl.

“I do.” He smiled. “And what I just told you was a lie, anyway. It wasn’t a bear, or any animal at all. It was my mother.”

“Your mother?” I whispered, wishing most fervently that I’d never asked.

“Yes.” He shrugged as though it mattered little. “It was a very long time ago when I was young. When my lion began making himself known.”

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