Page 73 of The Enemy to the Living
“I just—all of it—”
“Quinn.” Asher sounds hurt. No, devastated. “I mean it.”
I know he does. I know it. And truth be told, that knowledge eases my worries the tiniest amount.
“You don’t ever have to go back there if you don’t want to,” Asher murmurs as the taxi pulls up.
I stare up at him. He means that, too. I let him usher me into the back of the car, and when I rest my head on his shoulder, he holds me tighter still.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Asher
Quinnissilentallthe way back to my flat. I’m worried, of course, but I’d be more worried if he stopped curling into me the way he’s been doing the whole journey.
Once we’re inside, he trembles. I run my hands over him, absently noting the dried blood on his T-shirt. When I press down on the spot, he doesn’t wince, so I figure the wounds havealready healed. “Shower,” I murmur, and Quinn blinks at me, then nods.
I turn the shower on and leave him in the bathroom with a pair of clean jogging bottoms as I make us both tea. He shuffles out a quarter of an hour later and drops into the chair next to me at the table.
“No T-shirts left?” Quinn asks, lips quirking.
“None that would fit,” I lie.
He huffs a laugh. Shadows still haunt his eyes, but the sound heartens me. I reach over and tangle our fingers together.
“I’ll get one if you want it.”
Quinn shakes his head. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and we drink the rest of our tea in silence.
I take him upstairs afterwards. He makes a quiet sound when I leave the room, but my own shower is brief and I only drag boxers on before I climb into bed next to him.
Quinn shuffles closer, tangling our legs together beneath the duvet. It’s already light out.
“Asher,” he says. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you everything.”
I kiss his cheek and wrap my arms around him. “It’s okay. Let’s get some sleep.”
Sleep eludes me for a while, and when I do drop off, I wake every half hour or so, somehow convinced that Quinn will have slipped away without my noticing. He hasn’t. He sleeps fitfully too, whimpering and shaking, and I miss my wolf more than I ever have because if I still had him, I’d be able to shift and curl around Quinn, keep him wrapped up tight.
He wakes early in the afternoon. A small groan escapes, and I back off a little, stopping when Quinn’s grip on my side tightens.
“Asher?”
“Yeah, darling, I’m here.”
The word slips out. I don’t mean it to. Quinn’s cheeks go pink and his gaze darts away.
“Sorry, I—”
“No,” he interrupts. “I like it.”
“You didn’t sleep well.”
“No.”
“Quinn, what happened? Before you called me?”
He swallows hard, free hand plucking at the sheets. “When I got back to my flat the other night, Drew was there.”
