Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(74)

Her line of cars had stretched around the school.

But there were no cars around here to wash. In what situation could I be expected to wear a wet T-shirt?

It dawned on me. I turned to Cyclops. “Boy, you stink.”



Drizzling rain? Check. Wolf? Check. Thin white shirt and black bra? Check, check.

I’d just set up buckets of warmed water and my wolf prop in the courtyard—in full view of Death.

Though he hadn’t even glanced over at us, my mind had briefly blanked to see him. Today he wore a chain-mail shirt—like a long-sleeved T-shirt made of woven metal—that left little to the imagination. The mesh hung lovingly over the ridges and planes of his swollen muscles, teasing across the runes on his skin.

Focus! I grabbed the dishwashing liquid I’d filched from the kitchen. Assuming that Death’s lair had all the soap in the world, I squirted a good portion onto Cyclops.

Earlier, I’d found Lark in the gym, telling her, “I’m giving Cyclops a bath.”

Her response: “Your funeral.”

Strangely, the wolf cooperated, even when I began working the liquid into his frizzy fur. But he cast me a one-eyed look of such bafflement that I knew Lark had never washed him before. So I gave him a whatcha gonna do? look in turn and scrubbed.

Like washing a scarred, mangy Wookiee.

Sudsy water began running down the courtyard to where Death practiced. Whenever he stepped through it, bubbles splashed up around his boots. He must have noticed that. For a moment he stilled, then continued on with a determined look on his face.

Okay, now he was just ignoring me. Not acceptable.

I dumped the entire bottle on Cyclops, lathering his fur until he was covered in bubbles, a foam blanket. “My wolf in sheep’s clothing, huh, boy?”

A thick river of suds floated down to Death. Ignore us now, Reap.

Even when bubbles clung to his pant legs, the man wouldn’t glance over, just battered his target with punishing hits.

Damn it, this had seemed like such a good plan. I peered down at the wolf. “Might as well get you washed up for real.” Imagining how much better my turret would smell, I dug in to my task.

It was kind of soothing to take care of him, and when I realized he was liking it too, I smiled.

Without warning, he gave a great shake, sending foam all over me. I shrieked and jumped back, but he sidled up to me at once, wanting more attention. “You’re like a big feline!”

I squatted to work out some tangles on his neck. He snuffled, and bubbles formed over his nostrils, floating into the air. I couldn’t help laughing. It felt great to laugh. I hadn’t since that night in the cabin with Jack—

I caught sight of Death striding over, looking like he was about to annihilate something. “You interrupt my training?”

“Hmm?” Here goes nothing. I stood.

His head immediately dipped, eyes focused on my chest. I followed his gaze. My headlights were on, high beams engaged. Oops. “Just wanted to wash my roommate. Is the yard off-limits to me?”

Death’s blond brows drew tight, and he rubbed his gauntleted hand over his mouth.

“You have no other motive to brave this rain?” he said absently, still staring. “This cold rain.” Had his accent thickened? A change in accent was always an indicator of Jack’s heightened emotions.

I walked around Cyclops to stand in front of Death. “The wolf has taken to sleeping in my bed. I’d rather he smelled like zesty lemon than wet dog.”

Death’s hand moved just a fraction, as if to reach for me. Then his arm fell back, his fist clenching.

His tell. Born from lifetimes of craving contact? Only to remember that he killed with it?

It was so strange to think that this immortal could only have sex with one woman in the whole world. And that he thought about touching me all the time. Would he fantasize about it tonight?

At the thought, I shivered; he bit out a foreign curse.

Remember the mission. “Um, thank you for lending me The Prince.” It was a weird book, all about unscrupulous acts in war and ruling. Plots, scheming, and ruthlessness were to be applauded. “I’ll finish it this afternoon. I was thinking I could drop by your study tonight and return it.”

Still staring at my chest, he cleared his throat before he could speak. “You wish to come to my room this evening?” Then he raised his gaze, seeming determined not to look down.

“Yes. You loaned me a book. That means we’re supposed to discuss it together. Sharing makes the book new for you all over again.” When I smiled, his eyes locked on my lips, his irises going from amber to starry.

Was he imagining kissing me right now? I detested him so much I’d figured the mere idea would make me sick—yet I felt no aversion when I imagined Death’s lips on mine.

Which left me guilt-ridden. I was in love with Jack; how could I be thinking about this man’s kiss?

My cheeks heated, and I think Death noticed.

I reminded myself that the Reaper might be attractive to, like, a glorious degree—but he was arrogant and cruel and merciless. He wanted to murder me. With that in mind, I made my tone flirtatious. “Did you choose The Prince to show me how you play the game, big guy?”

As if cut off with a switch, the light in his eyes dimmed. “I gave you that book to illustrate how you play.”

Oh. The spell was broken.