replaying the events of last night in my mind—again.
Missing Mab. Running through the forest. Stabbing giants left and right. Facing down Gentry and the girl. Stumbling through the snow and driving over here to the salon. Not the best or most successful night that I’d ever had as the Spider, but I supposed it had turned out all right in the end.
Because I should have been dead.
Everything that could have gone wrong had. At the very least, I should have bled out from that gunshot wound in my thigh. Maybe I would have, if I hadn’t tied that tourniquet around my leg and used my Ice magic to numb it.
But what really bothered me were my emotions. I’d been melancholy last night, moody, and frustrated that I hadn’t managed to kill Mab. Jo-Jo might have healed my body, but the dwarf hadn’t eased my anguish. Even now, the melancholy, the frustration, the sense of failure, gnawed at me, bothersome termites burrowing deeper and deeper into my black heart, chipping away at the coldness there.
I forced my thoughts away from my epic failure. After all, this was another day, as Scarlett O’Hara would say, and here I was, still alive, still breathing, and still determined to do what needed to be done. Jo-Jo had patched me up, made me whole and healthy once more, which meant that I still had a chance to kill Mab—
“Ahem.” Someone cleared his throat.
I raised my head and spotted Owen Grayson sitting in a rocking chair at the foot of the bed, an open book in his lap and a mug of coffee on the table beside him.
“I see that you’re awake now,” he rumbled in his deep voice.
I smiled at him. “Once more, it seems.”
Instead of responding to my teasing, rueful smile, Owen put his book aside, crossed his muscled arms over his chest, and speared me with a hard stare. Uh-oh. Someone was not pleased, and I didn’t have to guess why. I hadn’t told Owen what I was doing last night—especially that I was going after Mab.
Early morning sunlight slanted in through the window, bathing Owen’s chiseled features in a pale golden glow. Blue-black hair, violet eyes, slightly crooked nose, a white scar that slashed underneath his chin. Interestingenough features by themselves, but put them all together, and you had one hell of an attractive man.
And the rest of Owen was just as appealing. My gaze drifted over his solid, muscled body. In many ways, he had a dwarf’s sturdy physique, although at six feet one, Owen was more than a foot taller than most dwarves. Unlike so many businessmen of his wealth and position, Owen didn’t spend hours in the gym to keep his body lean and trim. No, he’d gotten his physique the old-fashioned way—through years of hard, physical labor. He’d started out as a blacksmith, turning one small shop into a vast business empire that had made him one of the wealthiest men in Ashland, even though he was only in his thirties.
Being a blacksmith had been a natural fit for Owen, who had what he considered to be a minor elemental talent for metal. He could manipulate it the same way that I could Stone, since metal was an offshoot of that element. But his talent was anything but small, given the exquisite sculptures and weapons that he created, including the matched set of five silverstone knives he’d given me as a Christmas present. The ones that had my spider rune stamped into their hilts.
But perhaps the thing that most appealed to me about Owen was his personality—and complete acceptance of me. Unlike a previous lover of mine, Owen didn’t judge or condemn me for being the Spider. He knew exactly what kind of dark, violent city Ashland was, and he didn’t look down on the things I’d done over the years to survive. Mainly, because he’d done some of them himself to protect his younger sister, Eva.
Strong, confident, capable, sexy, caring. Owen waseverything that I’d ever wanted in a lover—everything that I’d ever wanted in my life. Too bad I was too much of an emotional coward to
Missing Mab. Running through the forest. Stabbing giants left and right. Facing down Gentry and the girl. Stumbling through the snow and driving over here to the salon. Not the best or most successful night that I’d ever had as the Spider, but I supposed it had turned out all right in the end.
Because I should have been dead.
Everything that could have gone wrong had. At the very least, I should have bled out from that gunshot wound in my thigh. Maybe I would have, if I hadn’t tied that tourniquet around my leg and used my Ice magic to numb it.
But what really bothered me were my emotions. I’d been melancholy last night, moody, and frustrated that I hadn’t managed to kill Mab. Jo-Jo might have healed my body, but the dwarf hadn’t eased my anguish. Even now, the melancholy, the frustration, the sense of failure, gnawed at me, bothersome termites burrowing deeper and deeper into my black heart, chipping away at the coldness there.
I forced my thoughts away from my epic failure. After all, this was another day, as Scarlett O’Hara would say, and here I was, still alive, still breathing, and still determined to do what needed to be done. Jo-Jo had patched me up, made me whole and healthy once more, which meant that I still had a chance to kill Mab—
“Ahem.” Someone cleared his throat.
I raised my head and spotted Owen Grayson sitting in a rocking chair at the foot of the bed, an open book in his lap and a mug of coffee on the table beside him.
“I see that you’re awake now,” he rumbled in his deep voice.
I smiled at him. “Once more, it seems.”
Instead of responding to my teasing, rueful smile, Owen put his book aside, crossed his muscled arms over his chest, and speared me with a hard stare. Uh-oh. Someone was not pleased, and I didn’t have to guess why. I hadn’t told Owen what I was doing last night—especially that I was going after Mab.
Early morning sunlight slanted in through the window, bathing Owen’s chiseled features in a pale golden glow. Blue-black hair, violet eyes, slightly crooked nose, a white scar that slashed underneath his chin. Interestingenough features by themselves, but put them all together, and you had one hell of an attractive man.
And the rest of Owen was just as appealing. My gaze drifted over his solid, muscled body. In many ways, he had a dwarf’s sturdy physique, although at six feet one, Owen was more than a foot taller than most dwarves. Unlike so many businessmen of his wealth and position, Owen didn’t spend hours in the gym to keep his body lean and trim. No, he’d gotten his physique the old-fashioned way—through years of hard, physical labor. He’d started out as a blacksmith, turning one small shop into a vast business empire that had made him one of the wealthiest men in Ashland, even though he was only in his thirties.
Being a blacksmith had been a natural fit for Owen, who had what he considered to be a minor elemental talent for metal. He could manipulate it the same way that I could Stone, since metal was an offshoot of that element. But his talent was anything but small, given the exquisite sculptures and weapons that he created, including the matched set of five silverstone knives he’d given me as a Christmas present. The ones that had my spider rune stamped into their hilts.
But perhaps the thing that most appealed to me about Owen was his personality—and complete acceptance of me. Unlike a previous lover of mine, Owen didn’t judge or condemn me for being the Spider. He knew exactly what kind of dark, violent city Ashland was, and he didn’t look down on the things I’d done over the years to survive. Mainly, because he’d done some of them himself to protect his younger sister, Eva.
Strong, confident, capable, sexy, caring. Owen waseverything that I’d ever wanted in a lover—everything that I’d ever wanted in my life. Too bad I was too much of an emotional coward to
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