Page 42 of Samhain Savior
She’d found me flat on my back in the forest, both legs dangling from the sapling I’d used for the snare, my dress thrown up over my head and no way to escape.
Or once, when we’d been trying to blend into a coven in Oregon, I’d offered my services for brewing a batch of elderflower tea for some of the older members. I’d spent the entire morning harvesting what I’d thought were elderflowers, only to realize, after I’d brewed a giant cauldron of tea, that what I’d actually gathered was poison hemlock.
After I’d nearly murdered all their old folks, the Oregon coven politely—or maybe not so politely—asked us to leave.
But none of those moments compared to standing in a bathroom, staring in the mirror, and trying to convince myself that I looked good in Persephone’s clothes.
While Archer had gone off to find his friend, Persephone had offered the rest of us a chance to freshen up at the home she and her uncle shared nearby. As soon as we’d gotten to the house—a squat structure made of red brick that was barely a stone’s throw from the church—I’d asked to clean up, hoping for a sink and maybe a toothbrush, if I was lucky.
Percy, in all her bitchy wisdom, suggested that perhaps it would be better for everyone if I took a shower, her face when she gazed at my dirty dress and greasy hair saying more than her words ever could.
Unable to come up with a reason not to, I’d agreed, asking if there was some way I could wash the dress and leggings while I was in the shower.
Persephone had taken the clothes from me, insisting she’d deal with them, but I should have known better. Instead of washing them and bringing them back, she’d returned with an outfit that she generously offered up as an alternative to my suspiciously missing clothes.
So now I stood, turning first one way and then the other, wondering if I should be impressed with her level of cunning or pissed.
The outfit she’d brought me was anything but flattering, an itchy, knit, sack dress that hung limply off my slender frame, offering no indication of shape or form under its bland, brown fabric. Long sleeves and a high neck ensured that there was no hint of my femininity on display, and as I turned around, I frowned at my butt in the mirror, looking like a flattened mushroom under the slump of fabric that fell down the back.
All in all, it was pretty horrible, but with my choices being the sack or naked, I figured it was the better option.
Letting out one final resigned breath, I slung Pandora’s pouch across my chest and left the bathroom, ready to join the others as we waited for Archer.
Corson was in the kitchen, back against the counter, his gaze moving around the open-plan main floor as he stood vigil over his friends. I smiled at him, receiving a stoic chin lift in return, which from Corson was as good as a hug.
I found Vine and Percy on the couch, heads together as they talked and laughed quietly. From their earlier greeting, I’d assumed they were friends, but seeing them so comfortable confirmed it. They looked up as I entered,Vine’s eyebrows going up in surprise and a self-satisfied smile stretching across Percy’s face.
“Bestie?” Vine sounded confused. “You joining a convent or something?”
“What? No.”
“Well, what other excuse could you have for wearing something so completely hideous? It looks like you cut arm holes in a sleeping bag.”
Pressing my lips together, I ran my hands down the front of the so-called dress, not wanting to let anyone know how self-conscious the stupid thing was making me.
“It’s Persephone’s actually,” I admitted. “She was kind enough to lend it to me.”
“It was all I had that would fit over your tiny little boobs,” the woman in question added—quite unnecessarily, if you asked me. “All my clothes are cut for a voluptuous woman, you know?” She not-so-subtly looked down at her very obvious cleavage. So did Vine, before he looked at me, a thoughtful expression on his face as he compared the two of us as though he was only now noticing there was a difference. “I thought I might have had an old training bra lying around,” she went on, and I could feel Pandora squirming in annoyance against my chest. “But no such luck.”
The look she gave me was anything but apologetic, but I only smiled back at her, determined not to show my cracks.
I sure wished I had some of that poison hemlock tea at the moment, though.
“It’s not a problem.” Feeling petty, I reached up and casually ran my fingers over the shadow collar, smiling as it practically purred beneath my fingertips, curling around them playfully.
Catching the movement, Percy’s face lost all of its vindictive glee, and her full lips dropped into a very unattractive scowl as she stared at the collar around my neck.
“I think I’ll go see what Mal is up to.” Turning my back, I headed for the back door, receiving an approving wink from Corson as I passed him.
“I thought I’d find you out here,” I said softly as I entered the small yard where Mal currently stood, shirtless, his black gaze once again on the low winter sky as he played with the compass that hung from his neck. Around us, the sounds of the city were muted, the low rumble of tourists walking on the next block over barely registering as the naked trees swayed above us. There was a small garden off to one side, a collection of hearty shrubs clinging to life in their neglected bed, and I shook my head at the utter disrespect for nature. Apparently, Persephone didn't have a green thumb; her talents must have lain elsewhere.
Undoing Pandora’s pouch, I pulled her out and set her on the ground near the border of the flowerbed. “See if you can scrounge up some lunch, although you might not find much in this barren wasteland she calls a yard.” She twitched her whiskers at me in agreement, then took off across the grass, snuffling as she looked for a worm or a tasty beetle she could snack on
“Aren’t you cold?” I asked Mal, turning away from the dying flora and crossing my arms over my chest, wishing I’d stopped to grab my cloak before my dramatic exit.
Mal said nothing, simply shaking his head without turning to look at me, giving me the opportunity to study him. His tattoos stood out under the mid-morning sun, and I could see now just how detailed they actually were. Whoever had done them had truly been a master of their craft. The symmetry, the way they curved over his muscles, I could almost picture Mal using the tattoo wings to fly, not the ones he truly had in his other form.
“I’ve never met a shifter in person before,” I said, hoping I wasn’t offending him with my words. “I think you’re incredible, Mal.” He grunted. “I also wanted to thank you,” I went on, deciding that if he wasn’t going to speak, I might as well. “For protecting me back in New York. The moment that explosion happened, you were there, and I—I appreciateit very m-much.”
