Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
I drift in and out of consciousness; I dream of warm golden magic creeping through me like molasses.
When I wake up, I’m in a strange bed. I freeze, and my gaze skitters around a well-decorated bedroom.
What the heck?
The sheets pool around my hips as I sit up, and I run the delicate fabric through my fingers.
Ooh, a super-high thread count. What the hell?
I’m such a weirdo, why did I notice the sheets?
Mmh. Apparently, I have a weird fascination with cotton.
I shake my head and give my forehead a rub. Where am I?
I close my eyes and try to remember what happened. How did I get here? I rub my forehead again vigorously. I remember… being ill, and I remember being in bed and then snippets of time that don’t seem quite right. I am not sure what happened…
Little pig, little pig let me in, not by the hair of my chinny chin chin. Shit, someone huffed and puffed and ripped my shed apart. I frown. There’s a memory of incredibly angry eyes. The memory of them is burned into my very soul… and then the metal mingled with sunlight scent.
Xander?
I must be going mad. I swallow a nervous laugh.
“Shit, where’s Story and Dexter? I’m supposed to be looking out for them.
” My ears strain. I can’t hear anything from outside the room.
But… but I can hear the shallow breathing of the person inside the room with me.
My eyes widen, and goosebumps rise on my arms.
This is like a horror film.
I slowly turn my head, and my eyes land on a silent, angry Xander. He is sitting in a chair by the window, watching me.
“That’s not creepy at all,” I mumble.
I guess a normal person would ask “where am I?” or “what’s happened?” But I keep my lips clamped closed and return his stare.
Of course my silence isn’t upsetting to him.
No, he stares right back at me, neither of us saying a word.
Daylight streams through the window behind him. I tilt my head to the side. Without the distracting lights of the club, I notice his eyes have a gold ring around the outside and little flecks of gold. His beautiful eyes narrow and he grunts. I guess he’s seriously sick of my shenanigans.
He’s pissed. Boy is he pissed.
Huh, that isn’t a surprise. The angel is either angry or disgusted by me. I think those are the only two emotions I evoke.
Looks like I’m doing a grand old job of keeping myself invisible.
What with the getting bitten by a shifter, bleeding in front of a couple of hundred creatures—oh, and telling my angel boss to fuck off.
Did I tell him to shove the job up his ass too or did I imagine that?
Ha. It’s all adding up to a total and utter shitshow.
Yay, what a week.
Now to top it all off I’m in some strange bed having a stare-off with an angel.
The dream… memory I have of him with his bare hands dramatically ripping apart my shed and pulling me into his arms must be the fabrication of an overactive imagination as the man glaring at me looks like he would be happier ripping me apart.
“The cat and the pixie are fine. You’re here because a shifter bit you while at work and you’re my responsibility.” His voice is loud in the silent room.
“Okay—” I fidget. Thank God for that.
To break our intense eye contact and avoid looking at him, I pull the covers away and take a peek. Huh, new pyjamas.
“With rumours circulating about the incident that happened at Night-Shift on Saturday and out of concern for your well-being, your other employer went to your address on Ansdell Road and discovered that the property had been sold. When she couldn’t find you, she came to me and requested”—I wince; that’s a nice way to say demanded, knowing Tilly—“my help. With the help of the insistent dryad and finally a bossy pixie, I find you half-dead in a garden shed within a falling-down garage.”
“It was far from falling down,” I scoff.
Xander washes his hand across his face. “Give me strength,” he says to himself as he leans forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees.
He lifts his eyes, and I blink at him. This is… This is ridiculous. What the hell is going on? I keep my face as blank as I can as my heart leaps to my throat.
Xander is livid. I clamp my mouth shut. The angel who could probably smite me with lightning out of his fingertips is giving me the evils. My heart—still lodged in my throat—pounds harder.
I shiver. I don’t know why I was poorly. I’m not human, but I can’t tell him that, can I? And to be honest, I’m feeling okay. I pull up the long sleeves of the pyjamas and inspect my wrists and arms. No bruises. That has to be a good sign, doesn’t it?
I ignore Mr Angry Pants and forge ahead with getting myself out of this situation unscathed.
“Thank you for all your help. I feel so much better.” I take a deep breath in, and my chest doesn’t hurt.
Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. “I am sorry for the inconvenience and for wasting your time. I’ll be on my way.
” I slide towards the other side of the bed—as far away from the angry angel as I can get.
“I’ll clear everything up with Tilly, and I will also let her know I handed in my notice last night so she won’t contact you again. ”
Xander holds out a hand, and I pause. “You’ve been unconscious for three days, and I’m afraid it won’t be that easy. The shifters are demanding that I turn you over to them. I’m still waiting on medical results.” He frowns.
What?
“The shifters are quite confident that the results will show that you are the very first turned human female in our history.”
I rapidly blink at him.
“Tru, you are no longer human,” he says, ending his speech with a splash of drama.
What the fuckety fuck fuck?