102 - A Message Made From Bones

9

"Looks like someone's feeling better."

My eyes fly open at Faith's voice, and I snap my head up from Jay's chest and push away from him—as if I still had any chance of hiding that we spent the night together. Jay moves almost in time with me, swinging his legs off the bed and putting as much distance as possible between us without literally diving off the mattress.

I pretend not to notice how he keeps the blanket bunched along his waist as I turn hardened eyes on Faith.

The veteran slayer is leaning against the closed door, looking all smug and shameless with her arms crossed and a smirk carved onto her face. Like she's been there a long minute, trying to decide when to wake us. How I managed to sleep through sensing her slipping into the room, I don't know—especially with how finely tuned we are.

I should've relocked the room after I went to the bathroom, after—

"What's up?" I rasp, clearing my throat.

The silence seems to last an eternity as Faith looks knowingly between Jay and me. So many dirty thoughts burn in those dark eyes. And perhaps pride, too.

Heat seeps into my cheeks at memories of that part of last night.

Then the throbbing in my ribcage and the stinging in my shoulders remind me of the slaying part of last night.

Faith bites down whatever comment she was about to make, and then says, "I just wanted to check on you" —her eyes slide to Jay— "but it seems like you've been well taken care of."

I don't glance over my shoulder to follow her gaze and instead pick my jeans off the floor, sliding them on one sore leg at a time—anything to hide my face until my cheeks cool.

Then I ask, "How did patrol go last night?" and force myself to scan over the brunette for any signs of new bruises or scrapes—but she looks cleaner than she has in weeks.

Faith shrugs, studying me as well. Noting the marks on my shoulders, the cut on my cheek. The bruise on my forehead, along which I feel is blatantly written to get the fuck out.

"Pretty dead," she responds lazily, in a tone that reveals she knows I went out last night and is far from happy about it. "Probably wasn't necessary for all of us to be out... but you should've seen Moira's face when she used her magick for the first time to dust a vamp. She was ecstatic." A pause, the disappointment in her eyes now glittering with faint amusement. Every second she spends irritating me is the punishment for leaving the house. "We got our witch back."

"I can't wait to see it," I murmur, not caring that I sound less than thrilled.

A pained hiss escapes me as I stand up to pull my jeans the rest of the way. My back and shoulders are stiff—after being rammed into a stone wall by a beast of a vampire, I don't even want to know what it looks like back there.

Then comes Faith's final lashing, whipping out of her mouth before I can get to my feet and yank her out of the room: "Was the sex that rough, or are those marks from whatever you slayed last night?"

All the pain eddies from my body; I feel nothing but the burning humiliation in my face, the urge to hit her—and the restraint to not—pulling my skin taut over my muscles.

I should've been prepared for her to say something like this, given how comfortable she's found us and how pissed she is under her cool, irreverent expression.

I still may strangle her where she stands, leveling a look at her that would send anyone else running.

The air seems to get colder, tighter; Jay tenses beside me, sensing the calm before the storm.