Ilyan looked up at my entrance. His line of sight trailed to the precarious bun on top of my head before he laughed. I pulled the hair tie out, having forgotten the silly thing was still up there. He clicked his phone shut and moved toward me. I closed my mouth after realizing it was still hanging open.
“What?” he asked, his accent rolling around the word.
“You look...” I paused, unsure of what to say, or even how to phrase it. The only word that came to mind was sexy, and saying that aloud to Ilyan was wrong on a very deep level.
“Did I do it wrong?” Ilyan asked, alarmed. He jumped away from me and ran to the night stand where a magazine was folded. He unrolled it and flipped through it looking for a specific page. Having found what he was looking for, he rushed back over, shoving a picture right under my nose.
The magazine picture was a Louis Vuitton ad featuring a man dressed in exactly what Ilyan was wearing. I looked from the ad to Ilyan a few times in shock before I began to laugh. So much for style sense, Ilyan had just been copying ads he had found in fashion magazines. My laugh continued to grow as I snatched the magazine from him, flipping the pages until I found a similar ad, this time with a girl wearing what Ilyan had provided me.
“Vat?” Ilyan asked, his agitation accentuating his accent. He shifted his shirt, obviously worried he was doing something wrong.
“Nothing,” I managed through my laughter. “It’s nothing, I thought...”
“What?” Ilyan asked again, his face screwed up in alarmed confusion. I dampened my laughter and placed my hand on his arm.
“Have you really been taking style hints from magazines all this time?” Okay it was more than hints, it was downright plagiarism, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Yes! How else do you expect me to fit in? Your clothing styles make no sense to me.” He shook his head and walked away from me, ignoring my returning laughter.
“Well, I am going to need new clothes; I can’t go outside in this.”
“Why not?” Ilyan rushed back to look at the magazine, obviously not understanding.
“Well they are tight, and have colors, and... and...” Ilyan hiked an eyebrow at me like I was crazy. “This hoodie has no fabric what-so-ever.”
I threw both the magazine and the offending hoodie at him. He caught the sweater and the magazine floated before him for a minute, before setting itself on the counter. His face broke into a wide smile, happy his clothes weren’t really the issue.
“Pants I will replace, the hoodie you are going to want to keep.”
“I can’t wear this out, Ilyan. There isn’t anything to it.” He laughed at me again, and I fumed a little bit.
“It’s one hundred and ten degrees out there today, Siln?. You wear any other hoodie and you’ll pass out from heat stroke.”
“One hundred and ten degrees?” It never got that hot back home, ever. I would be surprised if it even got to ninety in the summer. I cringed. That extra twenty degrees sounded miserable. I couldn’t go out without a hoodie, I couldn’t. I grumbled and grabbed the hoodie back from him, trying to ignore the way his face lit up, the joy behind his eyes.
Eight
The city of Santa Fe was full of life. From what I had seen from the confines of my tiny prison, I never would have thought that city streets could have so much energy.
Ilyan had walked me out of the apartment and into the boiling heat of the city, his hand wrapped firmly around mine. I felt his magic pulse through me as his shield protected me, keeping me hidden.
I had not been very happy with the idea of holding his hand, but the skin connection was needed to keep the shield in place. Besides, Ilyan had promised me it would only be for an hour, and then he would release me, taking the shield with him. I wasn’t strong enough to hold my own shield yet.
The idea of being unshielded in the middle of the city scared me. The thought of Ryland finding me – scratch that, hunting me – sent an uncomfortable mix of jitters and nerves through my already bristling stomach. I tried to settle it with the knowledge that Ilyan would be there. No matter how much this ‘Protector’ nonsense gave me the heebie-jeebies, I knew Ilyan would in fact protect me. And that made me feel more comfortable. Whether or not he would tell me why he was my Protector, I still felt safe with him being around.
Ilyan took me out of the apartment and onto the street below, a green taxi already waiting for us. He held my hand tightly as he helped me into the car, his body moving to sit right up against me, even though there was plenty of room in the backseat.