Chapter 18 – Bells
BELLS
I'd kill for an insult right now.
Anything but this complete silence punctuated only by the squeak and scrape of the windshield wipers.
Rex hasn't said a word since we got in the car.
That was forty minutes ago.
Forty minutes of rain on the windshield and his hands at ten and two and absolutely fucking nothing coming out of his mouth. The fuzzy handcuff chain droops between us over the center console, black faux fur slightly damp.
He drives the way he always drives. Carefully. And I'm starting to piece together the reasons why he is the way he is. You would think an alpha with Rex's personality would be a psycho 24/7, but no. Rex is cautious on the road. Sometimes shit even makes him flinch.
I find myself wondering if he'd care as much if I weren't in the car.
"You missed the turn," I say mildly.
"Must have been spacing out," he mutters under his breath, pulling over and reversing in the breakdown lane. He takes the correct fork into an even foggier section of forest.
Normally, I'd take forty uninterrupted minutes without Rex driving me fucking insane as a blessing. But this is so much worse than even when he's quiet.
Aggressive Rex, I can handle.
Deflect, match energy, keep my knife handy.
This Rex scares me.
Definitely not taking the cuffs off anytime soon, that's for sure. I'm not letting him out of my sight. Hope he's ready for me to be a grade-A clinger the entire time we're at Jamie and Orion's tower. He tried to come alone, but I said no. He didn't push it.
Which is… not great, honestly.
The familiar tower appears through the trees. Rex pulls into the muddy clearing and kills the engine.
He just… sits there.
"We going in, or are you planning to haunt the car?" I ask with a grin, hoping for some kind of reaction.
His jaw flexes. That's it.
"Rex."
Nothing.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and push the door open. Fuck, it's freezing out. I yank my rabbit ear hood up and make a break for the tower entrance. Or try to. The chain yanks taut and I stumble back a step.
Rex hasn't unbuckled yet.
I throw my head back with a loud growl and stare up at the uncaring gray sky. "Sometime today," I say through the rain.
Rex finally gets out of the car, which means he has to climb over the center console again, just like when we got in.
Normally, I'd think the whole thing was funny—Rex with his long legs, unfolding himself like origami while attached to me with fuzzy handcuffs—but right now I'm too fucking soaked and stressed to think anything is funny at all.
Rex moves like a man walking to his own execution. I match his pace because I literally have no choice, the chain swinging between us as my boots find every puddle between the car and the door.
Jamie's already at the door, bouncing on his toes in a moss green cardigan with tiny embroidered bees on the pockets. Actually, scratch that. Tiny embroidered bees all over the cardigan. His face lights up the second he spots me.
"Bells!" He hauls me inside. "You're drenched! I told Rex to bring an umbrella. Did he bring an umbrella? He never does."
"Jamie. Has Rex ever struck you as an umbrella person?"
"Fair point." He peers past me. "Oooh! He looks cheerful today."
"He's been like this all morning."
The sunshine dims for half a second. Jamie glances at me.
"Got it," he says. "I'll, um. I'll make tea."
He disappears up the staircase. I drip on the stone floor, listening to Rex's boots behind me. He steps through the door trailing water like a sea ghost.
"Jamie's making tea," I offer.
He moves past me toward the stairs.
Great.
I follow him up, the worn stone steps slippery under my wet boots. Rex takes them two at a time and the chain drags me along. I have to half-jog to keep up because the height difference between us is stupid.
Then my boot hits a wet patch.
My foot shoots out from under me.
I don't even get a full yelp out before his hand is around my wrist, his fingers closing around the bone with exactly enough pressure to stop my momentum and not a fraction more.
My other hand slaps the wall for balance, my heart slamming against my ribs, and I dangle there for a second like a fish on a line. One foot on the step, one hovering over nothing.
Rex just holds me there, staring at me, until I find my footing again. Then his grip loosens and he keeps climbing like absolutely nothing happened.
Cool.
Cool cool cool.
I swallow my heart back down out of my throat and follow him up the rest of the stairs on slightly wobblier legs than before, and not entirely because of the wet stone.
The workshop hits me with warmth and that familiar smell. Woodsmoke, leather oil, metal, incense. The same crazy masks cover every wall. The fireplace crackles. Cheeto is sprawled across an entire chaise lounge, his massive head resting on one paw.
The blind tiger's ears swivel toward us. He chuffs once, yawns, and goes back to sleep.
"He remembers you," Orion says pleasantly from the far workbench, those vivid green eyes flicking to me above his golden skull mask.
Rex drops onto the nearest stool like someone cut his strings, the chain between us tugging. He doesn't take off his coat. Doesn't look at anyone.
Jamie reappears with mugs, sets one in Rex's hands—wraps his fingers around it, actually, like Rex might forget how to hold things—and drapes a hand-knitted blanket over my shoulders, then Rex's, without asking.
Rex miraculously doesn't fling it into the fireplace.
My stomach tightens.
"So." Jamie claps his hands, his eyes locked on the fuzzy cuffs binding Rex and me together even as he pivots to the main workbench where several sculpted forms sit draped in cloth.
He's distracted enough his hip hits the bench and almost knocks everything over.
Orion's hand shoots out and catches it without missing a beat.
"We've—we've been busy. Orion, do the honors? "
Orion rises from his workbench and crosses to the forms. His auburn hair is drawn back in a low tail tied with a black ribbon.
His hair is long and thick enough that even tied back, some of it's loose around his masked face, like he only wanted to draw it back part of the way today.
He's even wearing a dark collarless shirt, sleeves turned to the elbow and buttoned in place.
He looks like he dressed for an occasion.
We're two dripping wet rockstars.
I feel woefully underdressed in my rabbit hoodie.
Orion lifts the first cloth. The skull mask underneath is theatrical, aggressive. Exaggerated cheekbones, deep-set eye sockets, teeth bared in a permanent snarl. Cracks spider-web across the surface like shattered porcelain with the faintest hint of red along the fracture lines.
"Jamie's concepts," Orion says.
I run my thumb over the surface. It's lighter than I expected—resin, smooth and cool. "So they think the leaked photos were just part of the act."
Orion nods.
"Orion had to physically carry me to bed last night," Jamie says, appearing at my elbow with my tea.
"You fell asleep holding a brush," Orion says mildly.
"I was resting my eyes."
I pick up the skull mask and turn it over. The interior is lined with that practical breathable fabric they'd recommended for my rabbit mask. Custom-molded padding along the nose bridge and cheekbones.
This wasn't made to fit over Rex's performance mask.
It was made to fit over his face.
I glance at Rex. He's staring at the mask in my hands. That single visible eye locked on those snarling teeth. He hasn't touched his tea.
Orion unveils the second option. Smoother, a clean red skull with hollow eyes and pointed teeth. Too normal for this, maybe. But at least it's an option.
The third one makes me stop.
Half a skull. Realistic, and just the right side—the side Rex's mask covers. This one isn't resin, it's some kind of silicone. It would look like the right side of Rex's face is all white bone and shadow while the other half is just him.
"Orion made that one," Jamie says proudly.
"It came from a mold," Orion says, running a hand through his hair, suddenly awkward. "Not as difficult to create as the other masks. It took all of three hours. The unmasking mechanism you built is far more impressive.”
"It took you longer than that, and the mechanism was your idea," I hear Jamie hissing to Orion as I glance at Rex.
So does Orion. Just a flicker, there and gone, before he refocuses on the masks like he's stressed out about something himself. Maybe this is uncomfortable for him, too, since he has scars of his own showing above the golden skull mask covering his lower face.
Rex, on the other hand, hasn't moved. The blanket is slipping off one shoulder and he hasn't fixed it. The tea is going cold in his hands.
I set down my mug.
"Okay." I keep my voice brisk. "He needs to try them on. Which means he needs the room."
Jamie blinks. "Oh—right. Yes. Of course."
"Come on." I jerk my head toward the kitchen alcove. "Show me what Cheeto's eating this week. Is he really boycotting farmed salmon again?"
The chain stretches between me and Rex as I move, just long enough to reach the counter if I don't go farther than the alcove entrance. Rex doesn't look at me. His hand rests on the workbench next to the masks.
"He is!" Jamie's face brightens as I steer him toward the counter. "But it's worse now because Orion found this high-end fish market that does deliveries and Cheeto figured out the sound of the truck, so every Monday at 6 AM, he sits by the window and—"
I let Jamie chatter. Behind us, Orion murmurs something to Rex that I don't try to hear.
I keep my back turned.
Jamie glances at me and my deliberate focus on the kitchen counter. His eyes warm up. "There are biscuits in the blue tin," he says, like that's what matters right now. "Orion made them. Lemon and saffron. Family recipe."
"Thanks."