Page 32 of Art of the Hunt
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Hours later, after the neighbors had all returned to their homes and the police had taken statements and investigated the scene, bagged casings and bullets as evidence, grilled Artemis and Hunter about what they had and hadn’t seen, Artemis was more than ready to lay her head on her pillow and sleep for approximately twelve or twenty hours.
“Do you want to come inside?” Hunter said, and Artemis blinked rapidly because, honestly, she’d expected him to say good night and head inside and quite possibly not even thank her for yet again saving his life.
“Come on.” He motioned at the door. Her curiosity piqued, Artemis followed.
His apartment was at the end of the hall on the second floor, which, he commented absently, worked well because the doors were thin and there wasn’t much foot traffic down there. His neighbor across the hall was a quiet, elderly nurse and did not have many visitors.
“That’s nice,” Artemis responded and stepped into his living room.
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked.
She stared at him.
He waved at her destroyed dress. “We both smell like river water. And now dirt. You can go first. Let me see if I can scrounge up something that might fit you.”
She started to tell him he didn’t need to bother, but she let it drop. Bringing up her god status right now did not seem prudent. Something had happened out there when those shots were fired, and Artemis couldn’t quite figure out Hunter’s mood.
He wasn’t angry, but neither was he sad or happy. He was…resigned, maybe?
But why?
He disappeared into his bedroom and returned a few moments later holding a Nirvana concert T-shirt and a pair of drawstring sweatpants. “It’s the best I can do.”
“Thanks.” She accepted what felt like a peace offering. He went into the tiny bathroom and pulled a towel and washcloth from a small cabinet behind the door.
“Here you go. I suppose you’re hungry? I can grill up some cheese quesadillas or something.”
“Um, sure. Thanks.”
She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. It was a far cry from her cozy yet proportional cabin on the mountainside outside of Seattle, and an even further cry from the posh hotel she’d selected for her stay here in Chicago. But the water was hot and the soap smelled like him, and her magic would repair whatever damage his cheap shampoo did to her hair, so she managed.
And honestly, slipping into his clothes was incredibly comforting.
She used her magic to brush the tangles from her hair but did not dry it, conscious of his persistent refusal to believe she was who she said she was, and honestly, right now, she did not want to argue with the man. She exited the bathroom, the scent of melted cheese and warming corn tortillas making her mouth water.
As she walked through the small living room, he popped a bite of food into his mouth and wiped his lips with a napkin. “All yours,” he said, waving at the pile of quesadillas on a nearby plate. “Eat all you want. Oh, I changed the sheets on my bed.”
“Why did you do that?” She snagged a triangle of warm tortilla and melted cheese and ate half in one bite.
“Well, to be honest, I can’t remember the last time I did, and I figured if you’re going to sleep there, you ought to have fresh sheets.”
She hacked on that last piece like it was a hairball. “You want me to sleep in your bed?”
He dragged a hand through his unruly hair. “After what we went through tonight, I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone.”
She could tell him that she’d been through much worse in the three millennia she’d been alive, and had spent a great deal of her time alone, even after some quite harrowing experiences.
But the truth was, shedidn’twant to be alone tonight.
“Okay,” she said quietly, and he stared for several long seconds.
“I totally thought you’d argue with me.”
About sleeping with him? Yes, there were those who would say it was a terrible idea, especially given she still intended to work with him to help fight crime despite his insistence on working alone. And he refused to believe she was a god.
There was also the possibility that he was Orion incarnated, except he didn’t know it or perhaps didn’t want to believe that, either.
