The air seemed a little stuffy, so Chris reached for a pack of matches and lit a gardenia-scented pillar candle by the chaise. She’d been looking forward to snuggling down into the pile of pillows and letting Linkin Park sing her to sleep; now she’d have to drive Jamys back to the stronghold. Unless . . . “Is the cab waiting for you downstairs?”
“No.” He released the crystal and looked at her. “What you have done here is very attractive. It is not what I expected.”
“I never planned on creating the ultimate chick cave,” Chris admitted. “In the beginning I wanted more of a Victorian Goth look. You know, black velvet, scarlet brocade, gilt everything. But for some reason whenever I went shopping and had to choose, I was more drawn to the soft, frilly female stuff.”
“There is nothing wrong with it,” Jamys said. “I like that you are so . . . female.”
“Good, because I like that you’re not.” A flutter of panic made her grope for an excuse to retreat. “Um, why don’t you sit down? I’ll be right back.”
Chris hurried through her bedroom into her bathroom, where she locked herself inside. What are you doing, flirting with him? What happens when he finds out you agreed to help him only so you can find the emeralds? Do you think he’s going to like you for being such a good liar?
She hadn’t lied to Jamys exactly; she just hadn’t explained why she wanted to help him find the gems. Even if she wanted to confess all, Padrone Ramas had slapped a gag order on her; she couldn’t tell him anything. Or she could, and say ta-ta to her one shot at being named and recognized with a status among the Kyn.
“Christian?” Jamys called through the door, making her jump a little. “Are you unwell?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll be right out.” Chris went over to the sink, splashed her face with cold water, and straightened her blouse before walking out into the bedroom. Jamys stood beside her dresser and was admiring one of her seashell-covered keepsake boxes. “Jema has a case like this for her photos.” He opened the lid to reveal the bundle of papers inside.
“I just keep junk in mine,” she said quickly. “Old notes, mostly. Some of them are from you.”
He glanced at her. “You save my e-mails?”
Every single one of them, even though she didn’t have to because she had read them so often she had them all memorized. “I don’t have that many friends who write to me.” Disgusted with herself, she went over and closed the lid to the box before she glared up at him. “The truth is, all of the notes are from you. I don’t have any other friends who write to me, so I like to save them. It’s stupid, I know—”
He pressed a fingertip to her lips, effectively silencing her. “I, too, have saved all of your e-mails.”
Chris felt her heartbeat stutter. “Are they in a box on your dresser?”
“I keep them hidden away in my armoire.” He traced the top of her cheekbone. “You are exhausted.”
“So are you.” Which reminded her. “Why did you follow me home?”
“I wanted to know why you have changed so much. And I did not wish to stay in the suite alone. I think I have spent too much time by myself.” His voice took on a tired rasp. “May I stay? Only to rest until sunset.”
She nodded, and drew him over to the bed. “I’m probably going to pass out the minute my head touches that pillow, so if you need anything, shake me a couple times.”
He didn’t reply until they were curled up together under her puffy comforter and she had just begun to drift off. “I have everything I need.”
* * *
Jamys dreamed of blood and pain, and the girl who had saved him from both.
The first time Christian had brought him to her apartment, he had been wounded, bleeding. He had wanted to tell her he could clean up by himself, but after dragging him into the bathroom she had taken out a small first-aid kit to treat his wounds.
“You’re a mess,” she muttered as she dampened a pad and began cleaning the streaks of dried blood from his face. “You shouldn’t have left your blades back at the club. I know you guys are all about the honor and stuff, but that was dumb.”
He raised his brows.
“Don’t get all Kyn on me,” Chris told him. “She could have blinded you.” She finished wiping his face and carefully pushed aside what was left of his hair to look at the wound. “It’s closed, but it’s not healed. You need blood.” She began rolling up her sleeve.
Jamys caught her arm. No, Chris.
She glared at him. “It’s part of my job.”