Orpheus followed Skyla up a flight of stairs and paused outside a blue metal door in the run-down rent-by-the-week motel on the edge of town.
As he stared at the back of her head, a waft of honeysuckle met his senses. The same fragrance he’d noticed in the concert crowd, in that clearing, and every second since. A scent that was oddly…familiar.
She reached up to the doorframe, felt around, flashed him a one-sided grin as her hand lowered with a key. “Stay here. I’ll be right back out.”
He didn’t know what she was up to, but he waited in the hallway while she disappeared into the apartment then came out seconds later with folded jeans and a T-shirt slung over her forearm. She locked the door, replaced the key, then motioned for him to follow her again down the hall.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Neighbor. He’s about your size. Works nights. Way too trusting.”
He smirked as she stopped in front of another blue door and pulled a key from her pocket. A schemer, like him. Who’d have thought it? “I thought you said they were your clothes.”
“I never said that,” she answered, pushing the door open with her hip. “And no way you’d fit into my pants. If you did, I’d have to kill myself.”
He eyed her pants. And her sexy backside. Told himself trying to find a way into her pants was a really dumb idea. He didn’t have time to play with the blond, no matter what she was. He should be back out there already, searching for the dark-haired female again. But he didn’t want to be. For just a few minutes, he wanted a break. Craved something just for him. Needed that connection with another person to remember he wasn’t dead. Like Gryphon.
Thoughts of Gryphon brought back the tightness to his chest he’d been living with the last three months. He thought of the female he’d been chasing earlier. And the way the blond had talked to her in the crowd at that concert.
The two knew each other somehow. Why else would the blond have followed them into the trees?
She closed the door after him, flipped on the kitchen light. The place was a far cry from the Ritz. The kitchen spilled into a tiny living room with a wall of windows that looked out to an enclosed deck and the darkness beyond. The furniture was old, covered in brown and orange checked fabric that looked like something straight out of the seventies. The tables were wood veneer, and the draperies hanging on one side of the windows were made of some heavy off-white, smoke-stained material.
He turned a slow circle, took in the closet-sized kitchen with its avocado green Formica and matching fridge that barely reached Skyla’s shoulder, the cracked vinyl brown chairs and matching table. And the short hallway off to his left, with its thick brown shag carpet, was bracketed by two doors, both dented and scarred from time and abuse.
He didn’t doubt for a minute that this was nothing more than a stopping place for her, one that suited her as much as the Argonauts suited him.
“The bathroom’s here.” She moved down the hall, pushed the door to the left open, flipped on the light.
More avocado green countertop and a mirror over the sink that reflected hollow cheeks streaked with blood, pale skin, and hair standing out every which way.
He looked away from his reflection, moved into the doorway of the other room, where she’d disappeared. A full-sized bed with an ugly burnt-orange bedspread filled the space. A small dresser, nightstand, and lamp rounded out the room. “Gorgeous. You do the decorating yourself?”
She crouched in front of the dresser, pulled the bottom drawer open, and extracted a clean towel. “Oh yeah. Shit brown and puke green are my favorite colors. Aren’t they yours?”
“Obviously. I’m a daemon, right?”
One corner of her lips curved. A sexy little grin that supercharged his blood. And again he was struck by the fact she didn’t seem the least bit afraid of him.
She stood, held out the towel and clothes. “While you get cleaned up, I’ll find bandages for your head.”
He didn’t bother telling her he didn’t need bandages. Instead he took the clothes, pulled them against his chest so she could pass. Was just about to ask why she wasn’t scared as a normal person would be, when her body grazed his in the doorway.
Her heat seared every inch of him, reigniting the arousal he’d felt back in the trees. Only this wasn’t just sexual. No, this was something more. An awareness. A déjà vu feeling. A memory he couldn’t quite bring into focus.
Her feet stilled. Her smile faded. And his stomach felt as if it flipped over when he realized she felt it too.
Who was she? What was she to him? And why the hell couldn’t he figure out how he knew her?
She turned back toward the kitchen. “Take your time.”
Why the hell was he so rattled around her?