Banishing the Dark (Arcadia Bell #4)(14)

Home.

But I hadn’t been to my house in months.

That couldn’t be right.

Oh, that’s right—Duke Chora broke my house wards. Lon said it wasn’t safe to stay there until we could fix them. Had I been living here since then? Jesus. I had. What was the matter with me? I shouldn’t be here, mooching off him. Surely I’d overstayed my welcome by now. Once I found a way to sever the ties with my mother or get rid of the Moonchild spell, I needed to reconstruct the house wards and move back into my own place.

But right now, I needed aspirin. Rubbing my temples, I made my way to the kitchen and nearly had a heart attack when I looked up.

Lon was standing in the archway to the dining room, horns spiraling back into his head, halo subsiding. That was unexpected but not startling. I’d seen him like that tons of times. He was dressed in worn jeans and a faded T-shirt. His light brown hair kissed the tops of his shoulders, and—

He was clean-shaven.

No pirate mustache.

Oh, God. I was so confused, and he was ridiculously good-looking. And there went my face again. Since when did I blush? I did my best to play it cool.

“Hey,” I said.

Had he been listening to my thoughts? And why wasn’t he saying anything? He looked just as confused as I felt.

I blew out a long breath. “Look, I can’t remember anything about last night after Priya appeared outside the wine bar. So if I made a fool out of myself . . . uh, I mean, if I was coming on to you, I’m really sorry.”

“Jesus f*cking Christ,” he murmured in a low voice. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“I said I’m sorry!” I couldn’t be any more embarrassed. I thought I’d seen enough idiotic behavior in Tambuku to swear off drinking, but now I definitely would never touch a drop again. Ever. “Look, if you don’t want to go look for this detective with me, that’s fine. Let me just go pack a few things, and I’ll drive”—I began backing up as he strode toward me—“myself, and . . . no, no. Please don’t transmutate again. Don’t read my thoughts. Because my, uh, head hurts, so if you’ll just give me some aspirin—”

My ass hit the back of the sofa. He grabbed my upper arms and squinted down at me, face tight and unreadable. “What do you remember about last night?”

“Whatever I did, I said I was sorry. Jeez, give me a f*cking break! I’m going through a lot right now.”

“What are you going through? Tell me.”

“What am I not going through? I killed the most powerful man in town, just got out of the hospital after being in a coma for a month, and my crazy mom wants to bodysnatch me.” I wiggled out of his grasp, thoroughly irritated. “Look, whatever I did or said, I’m sure you’ll get over it. Why the hell did you let me drink, anyway? My mom could’ve tapped into me. You know I’m not supposed to let my guard down at night.”

“Oh, God,” he whispered.

Damn right. I wasn’t taking the blame for this, whatever “this” was. Surely we hadn’t actually had sex. I hadn’t had sex in forever. Not since . . . a year or something. Holy Harlot, I was pathetic. Lon probably had his pick of beautiful models when he was on photo shoots. Or maybe he had some girlfriend I didn’t know about. I mean, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming about his personal life. God, please don’t let him have a girlfriend. Especially not if I made a fool of myself last night . . .

He made a small noise.

Crap. “Get out of my head! Those thoughts are private,” I said, punching him on the arm.

He absently rubbed the spot where I’d hit him, staring at me as if I was certifiable. “This can’t be happening,” he murmured.

“Nothing’s happening. Zero. Nada. It’s exactly the same as it was before between us. Christ, I’m not some virgin girl who draws hearts around your name on the cover of my notebook. Get over yourself.” His eyes widened, but I finished my thought. “I’m sure I would’ve done the same to any man who’d been around.”

One brow arched oh-so-slowly. And the way he looked at me, unblinking, as if his head might rotate and explode, almost made me want to cower. Almost.

“Excuse me,” I murmured, pushing past him and making a beeline for the nearest bathroom. I did a quick examination of myself—whoa, I needed to make a waxing appointment, and pronto—but even if no signs pointed to a night of drunken sexcapades, I couldn’t be sure. Maybe nothing happened. Or maybe it was bad sex—so bad my body had already forgotten it.

A loud crash came from somewhere in the house. I left the bathroom and traced the source to Lon’s photography room, where a tableful of equipment was now scattered across the floor. Lon was hunched over the efforts of his rampage.

I thought about backing out of the room, but if he was listening with his knack, he probably already knew I was there. “Please don’t be mad.”

“It’s not you,” he answered after a long moment.

“Do you want me to go?”

He shook his head. When he turned around, his eyes met mine. The anger melted away. “Let me make a couple of phone calls, then we can get on the road.”

“Okay. I could use a shower, if you don’t mind.” Where was he showering? He must have moved into the guest room. That didn’t seem right.