"My dad sold me to a pack of werewolves to settle his gambling debt."
❀
"I'm going to count to three," Logan growls. He doesn't have to say the rest. If I haven't come to him by then, he'll come to me... and I'll regret it.
I know this game, and I...
Without the heavy water, I can see through the glass wall of the shower into the rest of the bathroom. Once again, I wish there was a curtain. Since there isn't, and I stink, I decide I might as well get to it and look for a bar of soap. I don't see one, or any of those drugstore brand plastic bottles, just three small, fancy-looking jars lined up on a small corner shelf. They're an opaque, moss green with clear, diamond shaped stoppers, and read shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. I pick one up, and then wonder what's wrong with the idiot who designed it. The jar is made of glass—actual glass. What if it were to slip from my soapy hands and shatter into a million pieces? How did anyone ever thing that was a good idea?
Whatever. I pick up the body was and try to take out the glass stopper, but it doesn't budge. With a frustrated groan, I pull harder, but it's no use.
"You like the massage jets?" Luna calls and I almost drop the jar in surprise. It bounces around in my hands a couple of times, but in the end I manage to hold onto it and save myself from a death by glass-covered floor. Then I flush beet-red as I realize that Luna completely misinterpreted my groan. Does she think I'm actually enjoying this demon shower? And does she plans to carry an entire conversation through the bathroom door?
"They're great," I lie about the stupid massage jets. Great at trying to murder people. Also, what's wrong with this family? Haven't they ever heard of privacy? First Logan walked into the bathroom and sat outside the curtain like it was no big deal. Now this? Is it a pack thing, or is it genetic?
"I'll leave you to it, then," Luna says to my utter relief.
I figure I should hurry up before she changes her mind, and focus on the diamond stopper. I yank this way and that, for what feels like forever, and when I finally figure it out I want to bang my head on the shower wall. The thing's a twist-off!
I take it out, let it clatter onto the shelf, and pour out some the flower-scented liquid onto my palm. I hope this stuff isn't as expensive as it looks, because it takes the entire contents of the jar before I finally feel clean. The same goes for the shampoo, which smells like a different flower, and the conditioner, which smells like a third.
By the time I've switched off the water, I smell like someone's garden. It reminds me of something—something I can't quite place my finger on. I take one deep breath after another, hoping to jog my memory, but nothing comes to me. I'm wasting time anyway—keeping Luna and poor Joshie waiting—so I quickly towel off and slip into clean underwear and my saffron dress.
The material feels silky soft against my skin and fits perfectly. I twirl in front of the fogged up mirror, trying to see how I look, but it's honestly hard to see anything. I guess it doesn't really matter anyway, or so I think until I step back into the room.
"Logan?" I ask when I find reclining on the bed, with Luna nowhere in sight. The chair she was sitting on is now next to the desk, and aside from her paperback novel—which is on my nightstand—it's as if she was never here.
"You look beautiful," Logan smiles as he sits up. His gaze roves over me, and I flush with embarrassment. I feel kind of exposed, with my feet bare and my hair still wet from my shower. Then I realize he was sitting right outside the door while I was in there—that he could have walked in at any moment and there wouldn't have been a curtain for me to hide behind—and I blush even harder.
"So, it's Friday?" I ask, trying to make conversation.
"Yeah." Logan nods. "Sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. Mother said—"
"That you stink?" I tease.
"Yeah." Logan grins sheepishly. "How are you feeling?"
"Great." I smile. "Your Mom said Joshie was waiting to see me?"
"He is, but that can wait." Logan pats the spot on the bed next to him. "Come, sit. There's something I want to talk to you about."
