Page 75 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
Morgan nudged him with her elbow. He turned to look at her, and she smiled. “You have the exact same look of bewilderment my husband gets when I tell him I love him.”
“What is all this?” Hawk gestured to the display.
Morgan regarded him for a moment, dark brows lifted, her expression sympathetic, if slightly amused. “You men. It must be hard to go through life so completely clueless.”
Hawk blinked at her. “I’d say ‘huh?’ again, but that would be redundant.” He paused. “It’s honestly all I have right now, though.”
Morgan patted his arm. “I know, duckie. I have every confidence you’ll figure it out eventually, however.” She deposited the bundle she carried into his arms. “A little something for our new friend. Tell her it’s from me, will you?”
Hawk looked down. Whatever she’d given him was light, wrapped neatly in a soft, soft fabric of indigo blue, and tied with a white silk ribbon. He looked back at Morgan.
“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?”
“I could, but watching you flounder is too much fun to resist. I have to take it where I can get it.” She winked at him. “I’m sure you understand.”
Hawk scowled. He wished he could cross his arms over his chest to look more intimidating, but her bundle wouldn’t allow it. He made his voice stern when he demanded, “Morgan, I’m in no mood for games. Tell me what this is!”
She produced a lovely, ladylike laugh, chiming like a bell.
“Oh my! Positively terrifying!” she teased, looking up at him. “You forget who I live with, Hawk. Xander makes fire breathing dragons look like bunny rabbits. And if he doesn’t scare me, you’re certainly not going to!” She looked at him sympathetically. “Although that was a good attempt. Had I been anyone else I’m sure I would have been very, very afraid.” She smiled. “Extremely.”
He growled and she laughed again, moving away. “Just don’t forget to tell her it’s from me,” she called over her shoulder with a wave. Then she was gone.
And Hawk was just as confused as he was before she’d come.
He gazed up the trunk, looking at the underside of his home, and wondered what he would find when he climbed the rope.
Only one way to find out.
He carefully picked his way through the sea of gifts and began to ascend.
But Jacqueline was sleeping just as he’d left her, innocent and peaceful as a child. He laid Morgan’s gift on the dresser, and checked Jacqueline for fever by pressing the backs of his fingers to her forehead. Her skin felt as it always did: soft, fine, and warm, but a normal temperature, not flush with the heat of fever. His fingers drifted down her temple and caressed her cheek, and she sighed softly in her sleep and pressed her face against his hand.
He froze. His damn traitorous heart began to pound in glee.
Hawk eased slowly away from the bed, trying not to think of those three words that might just be the death of him.
She can’t lie.
He turned away, deciding to busy himself with cleaning up the mess.
By the time Jacqueline awoke to the first of the early evening rainfall, Hawk had managed to gather all of the jewelry. He’d laid it out on every available surface, where it glittered on every table and dresser and chair, festooning his home like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Making, trading, and collecting shiny trinkets had been a favorite pastime of the tribe for centuries, and though he’d never had an interest in amassing his own treasure trove, he was now in possession of a substantial collection. He didn’t know exactly what to do with it all, but had a vague idea that he’d ask Jacqueline’s opinion.
He’d brought up the fruit in the large basket he usually used for foraging, and had left it in an enormous pile in one corner of the living room. He didn’t have a kitchen—none of them did—the preparation of food was a communal activity—so he’d no idea how he’d “preserve” the fruit, as Morgan had suggested, but thought he might ask Jacqueline about that, too.
He was just about to make another trip down the rope to gather the rest of the pottery, figurines, and candies when Jacqueline appeared at the top of the stairs, looking sleep addled. Her hair stuck up all over her head like the bristles of a bottlebrush tree.
“Do you have a shower?” she mumbled, rubbing an eye with her fist.
Hawk wondered if she remembered anything she’d said earlier, deciding quickly that he hoped she didn’t. Drug-induced amnesia would make it much easier to deal with the situation.
Much easier to deal with than drug-induced nymphomania, that was for sure.
“Yes.” Strange that his voice could crack like that over a single-syllable word. He cleared his throat. “I’ll show you. It’s this way.”
She descended the stairs from the second floor and followed him silently, her eyes barely open. Once they passed through the living room and stepped out to the deck that ran along the perimeter of the first floor, she stopped dead.
Hawk turned to look at her. “What is it?”
