Chapter 15
When Kira woke, Flynn was already gone. He’d cleaned up the room, too—taken away her bloody clothes and towel. For some reason, that made her feel warm inside, like he was looking out for her.
Or maybe he was just a neat freak.
She found more clothes in the closet—leggings that were too short, and another giant t-shirt. She felt like Goldilocks in the Three Bears’ house, looking for something that fit her just right.
Something besides Flynn.
No. She didn’t let her mind go there. He had no desire for a mate, and neither did she. He’d slept with her because…
Because he wanted to? Or he felt sorry for her? Could a man like Flynn have that kind of mind-blowing sex with a woman he didn’t care about?
Or maybe it was only her mind that had been blown.
She’d woken without more visions—that was a good sign. Usually they filtered in just as she awoke, but this time, nothing.
No screams, no nightmares. No magical flares. All her wounds and bruises from last night were healed.
But that didn’t mean she was cured. Was it wrong of her to hope, just a little, that she wasn’t? That last night wasn’t the last one she’d spend with Flynn?
She dressed quickly in the borrowed clothes and concealed a few weapons here and there, intending to see if she could find any coffee before she went out to the truck to get the rest of her things. She really needed to go shopping. Traveling light was one thing, but with the number of fights she was getting into, pretty soon she wouldn’t have anything of her own left to wear at all.
She opened the bedroom door and recoiled back, reflexively pulling her knife from the sheath strapped to her leg under the t-shirt. “Hell on toast!”
Lying on a Welcome mat right in front of her door was a dead squirrel, its eyes closed and its front paws crossed over its chest in some bizarre imitation of a knight on a medieval tomb. It was also covered in blue and green glitter.
She heard a suspicious burst of laughter from the kitchen.
What the actual fuck?
Flynn appeared at the end of the hallway. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, sure,” Kira snapped. She impaled the creature on her knife and raised it in the air. “Does this mean breakfast is served?”
Flynn rolled his eyes. “Xander!” he yelled.
An overly innocent “Yes?” floated back. Kira stalked down the hall, shouldering past Flynn and on into the kitchen. Practically the whole crew was there. They all paused in what they were doing: Jasmin breaking eggs into a bowl; Brody draining the grease from a cookie sheet full of bacon; Sloan grating cheese. The others were scattered around the dining area, drinking coffee—except for Lissa, who was drinking tea and looking a little green.
Kira brandished the squirrel at Xander, glitter showering down.
“Is it Fuck with the Princess Day, or what?”
Xander said, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just sorry that poor creature happened to expire on your doorstep.”
“And brought its own Welcome mat. How enterprising. I suppose it rolled itself in glitter, too?”
“They do that.” Xander cocked his head. “Or maybe Sloan did it, and left it for you as a little gift. His kitty can be so mushy sometimes.”
“Fuck you,” Sloan said, but there was a gleam in his eye that made Kira suspect he’d been in on this particular prank. “And you might want to stop waving that thing around,” he said to Kira. “Once glitter gets in the corners and crevices, it never ever comes out.”
“Not even for the apocalypse,” Caitlyn added. “I keep telling you people. Mushroom cloud, nuclear holocaust, and then nothin’ but cockroaches and glitter.”
Sloan nodded. He said to Kira, “Check out the front porch of our trailer, if you don’t believe us.”
“Check out all our front porches,” Lissa said.
Kira looked back and forth among the crew, all with their innocent faces on. “So dead glitter animals are, like, a thing?”
“Believe it or not,” Flynn said from behind her, “It means Xander likes you. Or at least, he approves of you.”
“I approve of you getting laid,” Xander called past Kira to Flynn. Flynn just gave him the finger and headed back into the kitchen.
Kira, to her annoyance, blushed deep red.
Xander stared at her, eyes wide. “Ooh, you did get laid!” He put his elbows on the breakfast bar and leaned toward her, his face the picture of polite fascination. “Was it his first time? Were you gentle with him? Did you teach him where all the parts go? Was there at least a lot of motion in the ocean, to make up for the teeny size of his dick?”
Flynn growled, “Shut the fuck up, Xander. You’re embarrassing her.”
He was stirring something in a bowl that looked like batter. Seeing Flynn being domestic almost made Kira drop her glitter squirrel.
Caitlyn said to Flynn, “I think you are boinking her. You didn’t care when he embarrassed me.”
“Or me,” Lissa said. Her voice grew suspiciously breathless. “Maybe she is his mate.”
“Flynn cared when Xander embarrassed me,” Jenny said, coming in with Brandon. “He told him to stop it.”
Caitlyn and Lissa both turned to look at her, then at each other.
“He did?”
“Huh.”
“Maybe he’s just getting soft.”
Flynn growled, “Maybe you assholes just don’t want any pancakes.”
Jasmin said, from over by the stove, “Or maybe princesses just have tender, fragile feelings.”
Brody nodded, munching on a strip of bacon. “Easily crushed, like delicate flowers.”
Kira pulled her knife out of the squirrel and pointed it at the top of Brody’s head, making a circle like she was going to slice the top of it right off. “Mmmm. Wolf brains.”
Brody grinned.
Kira shook the squirrel, raining more glitter onto the polished floorboards. “So, who’s cooking the glitter squirrel? Anybody?”
“Put it back on the Welcome mat,” Flynn said. “Xander will take care of it after breakfast.”
Kira went back down the hall and deposited the sad dead squirrel on its mat. It was disgusting, but it was kind of funny. Not that she was going to let Xander know that.
She came back to the kitchen, dusting off her hands, and saw the trail she’d left. “I hope somebody’s going to sweep up the fucking glitter. Because it’s not going to be me.”
“Sloan will clean that up.” Flynn’s tone was casual, but implacable. Nobody argued.
With a martyred sigh, Sloan gave Jasmin his plate of grated cheese and pulled a mini vacuum out of one of the cupboards. “I’m telling you, it doesn’t do any good. Glitter. Forever.” He started vacuuming.
“Not that stuff,” Jenny said, over the sound of the vacuum. “That’s the edible glitter.”
Kira stopped in the act of pouring herself a cup of coffee. “They make edible glitter?”
“We make it ourselves,” Jenny said, passing her the cream. “Out of sugar and food coloring. Had to. Brandon’s panther will eat anything, and I was starting to get afraid his intestines would be permanently coated with glitter.”
“Or, Xander could stop leaving glitter animals around,” Kira pointed out.
Jenny snorted. “Right.”
Kira washed the blood and glitter off at the sink, noticing that the glitter was, in fact, dissolving. Brandon scrambled up on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, which had a booster seat strapped to it. “Pantercakes!” he announced, as Jenny strapped him in. “Time for pantercakes!”
“You mean pancakes?” Kira asked, amused.
Brandon scowled at her. “Yous get pancakes,” he informed her. “I’s a panter, so I gets pantercakes. Right, Alfacat?”
“Sure, kid,” Flynn said.
He sounded like he didn’t care—until Kira saw him pour some of the batter he’d been mixing into a smaller bowl, and add powdered cocoa and chocolate syrup. He ladled it out on the griddle—a big brown circle with two pointed ears. He let it cook for a minute, then flipped it. Kira watched open-mouthed as he added yellow jelly beans for eyes, a pink one for a nose, and thin white chocolate straws for whiskers.
Flynn slid a spatula under it, and expertly maneuvered the whole thing off the griddle and onto a plate. “Who likes panthercakes?” he asked, looking around the room.
“Me! Me!” Brandon shrieked.
“Panthercakes are only for panthers.”
“I’s a panter!”
Flynn cocked his head, doing a stern alpha frown. “You sure?”
“Yes yes yes!”
“Okay then.” Flynn put the plate in front of the little boy.
Xander slathered butter and syrup on it, and then Brandon proceeded to demolish the pancake panther, managing to smear syrup and melted chocolate from his chin to his hairline in two seconds flat. Flynn shook his head, ruffled Brandon’s hair and went back to the stove.
He loves them. It hit Kira like a punch in the stomach. Flynn loved his whole demented crew, no matter how much he complained about them, or how often he had to smack them into line.
Tears stung the back of her eyes, and she slipped away from the kitchen and out the front door so no one would see. She headed over to Flynn’s truck and started pulling her things—and his—out of the back of the cab. So she’d have an excuse, in case anybody wanted to know why she wasn’t inside with everyone else.
She piled her bags on the ground, and then leaned against the side of the truck. She was selfish. All her life she’d been told that she was the center of the universe—the special one who was going to empower her people and save the dragons. Even after there was no one left to save, Markus had still insisted she had a great destiny.
She’d been told that so long she’d never questioned it. She’d never thought about whether it was worthwhile, or how many people might have to sacrifice themselves to make it happen. She was dragon royalty—that’s what people did. The entire Elite Lion Guard of Al-Maddeiri had existed specifically to sacrifice themselves for the House.
Flynn was the only one who’d escaped. And after her power started to go haywire, she’d hunted him down because hey, he’d made a promise to protect her.
A twelve-year-old boy. Of course he’d taken the oath. He’d been told all his life he didn’t have a choice. That it was his honor to sacrifice himself for her.
So she’d come and shoved herself into his life. Accepted his warmth and his caring and his protection. He’d held her last night after her seizure, and given her his body to try to make her whole again.
He’d given her a little piece of his soul—whether he would ever admit it or not. He gave little pieces of his soul to all the shifters he tried to save. He was grumpy and blunt and acted like everyone got on his nerves. Hell, maybe they did. But he loved them just the same.
His crew obviously loved him back. But he had no one to love him truly—not the way the others loved their mates.
Had she taken that possibility away from him? Had they already cemented the magical bond, so that he’d never be able to find a real mate?
She dumped the bags onto the porch and walked off, away from the sounds of the crew.
Flynn’s crew. His family. A family that could never be hers.