Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Rook
Icouldn't get the image out of my head even if I hadn't witnessed it.
Winter pressed against that examination room wall, terrified, while some cultist freak with a knife loomed over her.
If Zane hadn't gotten there first, who knows what would have happened?
My claws extended involuntarily, scraping against my thigh.
"So I was thinking," Winter limped slightly beside me as we walked down the corridor to her apartment.
Her bad knee seemed to be bothering her more after all the excitement.
"Maybe this whole prophet business isn't so bad.
I mean, sure, cultists trying to cut out my heart is a downside, but at least I get to blow stuff up with my mind now. "
I grunted, scanning the hallway for threats. The Harbingers had infiltrated once already. Nothing was stopping them from trying again.
"And the blue glow is pretty cool," she continued, holding up her arm where those strange markings had appeared. They'd faded to a dull shimmer, barely visible against her skin. "Though I guess I'll need to stick to long sleeves if I ever want to go back to the real world."
Another grunt. My senses were on high alert, ears straining for any unusual sound, nostrils flaring to catch unfamiliar scents.
"You're feeling chatty today," her tone laced with sarcasm.
I shot her a sideways glance. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her gray eyes, her usual sharpness dulled by fatigue and lingering shock. Something twisted in my chest. I didn't like seeing her this way. Vulnerable and hurt. I was just getting used to the snarky brat part of her.
When we reached her door, I insisted on entering first, checking each room while she waited in the hallway.
"All clear." That was probably the first complete sentence I'd managed since we'd left the medical wing.
She hobbled in and made a beeline for the coffee table, where a small glass fishbowl sat. She picked it up and hugged it to her chest with such reverence you'd think it contained liquid gold instead of tap water.
"Did you hit your head in the blast?" I frowned.
Winter rolled her eyes. "No. I need comfort, and since there are no saltine crackers around here, Frank helps."
"Frank?" I looked at the fishbowl.
"My emotional support fish," she set the bowl back down carefully. "He's very low maintenance."
"He's a fish."
"He's actually a leprechaun in disguise," she kept a straight face. Then, seeing my expression, she laughed. "I'm kidding. He's a betta fish."
Her laughter did something strange to my insides, like someone had reached in and rearranged my organs. I cleared my throat.
"Why saltine crackers?" I was genuinely curious about this odd comfort food of hers.
Winter's smile faded slightly. She dropped onto the small couch, still holding the fishbowl and Frank.
"Growing up, it was the one constant food in the house," she ran her finger around the rim of the bowl.
"My mom always told me it was the perfect diet food for me.
'Winter, girls like us need to watch what we eat,'" she mimicked in a higher-pitched voice.
"She'd put out a sleeve of saltines when I got home from school. That was dinner some nights."
My jaw clenched at the implication. The thought of Winter going hungry, of someone making her feel like she needed to be smaller or less, made my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin.
I walked to the kitchenette where a newly installed vending machine glowed with images of available meals. The Facility had replaced everything damaged in Winter's arrival, at Fenric's insistence, I suspected. They needed to keep their new prophet comfortable.
I punched in the code for two full dinners, real food, not the protein bars I usually subsisted on.
"You don't need to diet," I kept my back to her as I watched the machine prepare our meals. The words just slipped out before I could stop them. "Your round curves are appealing. To others."
The machine hummed, masking the sound of my internal cursing. What the hell was that? I wasn't some smooth-talking charmer like Zane. I didn't say things like "appealing curves" to women. Especially not to women like Winter who were too bright, too alive for someone like me.
"Thank you," her voice came from behind me, soft and a little shy.
I glanced over my shoulder. Her cheeks had flushed pink, and she was looking down at Frank like he was offering sage advice.
Something flickered between us, a dangerous warmth I couldn't afford to acknowledge. I turned back to the vending machine, grateful when it beeped to announce our food was ready.
"Let's eat."