Lielit
The anger didn’t fade. I scrubbed my teeth so hard that I spotted blood on the toothbrush. With a grunt, I rinsed my mouth out and washed the brush before sticking it back in the holder. I searched the cabinet for mouthwash as thoughts of tears, hugs, and lies churned through my head.
I hadn’t lied to protect Blaidd—but to protect my family.
Okay. A partial fib. But it was enough to make the truth palatable for them.
I framed it as an initial abduction, followed by a gradual getting to know each other.
Their scepticism was natural, and I told them his interest had been a massive misunderstanding.
The lies I’d fabricated during the helicopter ride back to London were absurd—but still better than the truth.
I didn’t blame them when they started accusing me of Stockholm syndrome.
That was when I lifted my top and showed them my belly.
It stunned everyone into silence.
For ten whole seconds.
I groaned when I heard him in the bedroom. The bed was large enough for us both to keep our distance, but that didn’t change the fact that I was in his space—again.
I spat the mouthwash into the sink and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, staring at my reflection.
Don’t do it, Bouda warned.
What? I thought. A little bleach on his toothbrush won’t kill him.
Instead, I squeezed a little toothpaste out and smeared the aqua-blue sludge across the pristine white porcelain sink.
Guaranteed it wouldn’t be there in the morning.
I didn’t think it possible, but you’re diabolical, Bouda tittered.
I grinned.
It was the first real smile of the day.
It didn’t last.
The thought of how satisfied he must feel every time he won crept in—how easily he tallied lives like numbers. His body count was probably in the hundreds. Maybe thousands.
He’s rubbing off on me, I told Bouda with a sigh.
Have you considered how much of yourself you’ve already rubbed onto him? she purred.
I wasn’t dead—I’d multiplied. I wasn’t on his stupid island. Fenrir wasn’t a dick. The cohabitation contract was a farce. Even if I married him, divorce was always an option.
The bond wasn’t.
The final bite was in my hands.
Or my jaw.
Had he ever conceded to anything—or anyone—in his life?
Highly doubtful.
He cleared his throat loudly outside the bathroom door.
I rolled my eyes.
Can you bite his throat out and kill him?
His throat is too thick. I’d need to lock in for blood loss and suffocation. Fenrir won’t allow his host to die.
Ah well.
It was a nice thought.
?
?
?
He switched the lamp off, and we lay in silence. It was awkward, and I was grateful for the darkness.
“How were your family?” he murmured.
“If you could comprehend human emotion,” I said dryly, “you’d know how upset they’d be about their only daughter and granddaughter being missing for almost four months.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “Emotions are counterproductive.”
He had to be part robot. A cyborg, maybe.
“But I’m glad you have an adequate family.”
From anyone else, the statement would’ve sounded disingenuous. From him, it seemed… sincere.
Bouda could be right.
Perhaps I was rubbing off on him.
?
?
?
To my utter mortification, I’d rolled over onto his side during the night and now lay snuggled against his bare chest. There was no way I could get out of this without waking him. His hand rested between my hip and arse.
He does smell good. At least he’ll never have hygiene issues, Bouda said, stretching out.
You’re not helping.
No. I’m a simple shapeshifting hyena who is enjoying the moment, she chuckled.
I slowly began to inch backwards, wriggling like a snake until his hand slipped from my hip. His eyes remained closed as I slinked off the edge of the bed. I tiptoed to the bathroom, grinning when I saw the clean sink.
When I glanced up, he stood behind me in the doorway. His hair was rumpled, but his eyes were wide awake. I broke eye contact and began fumbling with my toothbrush.
He was gone by the time I started brushing my teeth.
You know he can smell you, right? Bouda drawled.
Whatever. It was probably hormones.
?
?
?
“Why are you getting out?” I asked the man who’d accompanied me in the car. “Wait.”
I pulled my new phone out to read the text message.
Spouse: Guard 3 will remain outside your office.
I really needed to change the preprogrammed contact he’d added for himself. I snickered as I changed it.
Me: Trust issues?
Ball & Chain: Security.
Me: Sure.
I did well, considering I almost typed dickhead.
Now to listen to Anji’s screams and demands for four months’ worth of gossip.
The guard held the door open, and I nodded. There was no way I was talking to this one—not after last time.
I almost raced up the stairs, then remembered the babies.
It was worth it.
When I slipped into the office, Anji was sitting in my chair with her back to me. Her dark hair was twisted into a bun. She was on the phone—possibly with the accountant. It sounded like a positive call about the company’s year-end figures.
“Ugh,” she said when she hung up.
“I know, right?” I said.
Her chair spun around—and I’m not ashamed to say we both burst into tears.
I like her, Bouda murmured.
Now my life felt whole again.