Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(76)

I threw the blankets away from me, intent on just storming down the hall in the hopes of at least finding Wyn, when a loud grunt issued from the foot of the bed, followed by a large thump that shook the room. I looked toward the noise, terrified in my jittery state, that some explosion had gone off. Instead, I was treated to Ilyan yelling, or perhaps swearing, in Czech before he crawled on hands and knees into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

I stared at the door in bewilderment; I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh hysterically or not. I could hear him thump around in the bathroom, random foreign words filtering through the ivory-colored doors. I sat up, fully intent on making my escape when Ilyan’s thumping and yelling was joined by another voice, from someone running rapidly down the hall toward me. My heart sputtered as the door flung open and a very agitated, while still perfectly poised, Ovailia burst through the door.

“What in heaven’s name...” She froze at the sight of me, her eyes bugging out of her head as her jaw worked mechanically in place.

Seeing Ovailia there with such a terrifying look on her face sent the energy into overdrive as it buzzed and vibrated through me. I grabbed the covers and pulled them up to my chin, realizing too late that that was probably not the best action to take. Ovailia’s jaw only dropped more. I looked down; I was wearing one of Ilyan’s light colored, button-up shirts... great.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I said, desperately hoping she would believe me and not question any more. After all, I had absolutely no idea what I would say. I needed Ryland.

The energy under my skin increased, and I felt a desperate need to get rid of it.

“What are you doing here?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. I could feel my cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. Ovailia rushed to the bathroom door without saying another word to me, her eyes never leaving my blush stained face.

The door to the bathroom slammed behind her and my head dropped into the white cotton blankets. Great. This was not the way I wanted to start my day. The yelling in the bathroom increased as Ovailia joined in the fray. I could make out the two voices distinctly, even though I couldn’t understand the words they were yelling at each other. I was secretly glad I didn’t understand Czech. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know what they were saying.

I jumped off the bed, heading toward Ryland’s sweater that lay across the foot. I grabbed it and went to tug off the yellow shirt that Ilyan had dressed me in. My blush deepened and melted into an embarrassed anger at the thought of what state I had been in after the bath and exactly what I was wearing now. I froze for only a moment before removing the shirt and tugging on one of Wyn’s band shirts that had been laid out next to Ryland’s sweater. I pulled the shirt and sweater on, keeping a close ear on the argument going on in the bathroom, just in case someone walked in on me. I glanced around for my pants, my heart dropping at finding nothing, not even the pajama pants I had worn last night. I guess I would have to stay in the plaid shorts I had been dressed in a bit longer.

I tugged the sweater down in hopes of hiding what I could only assume were Ilyan’s boxers. I pushed down my anger at being left to sleep here and thrown into such a situation; after all, how hard would it have been to just walk me down the hall?

I turned to make my escape just as Ovailia burst through the bathroom door, still yelling something angrily in Czech. She was followed close behind by Ilyan who was soaking wet with soap in his hair and a white towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. The sight of him supercharged my agitation, bringing the level of buzzing on my skin to new heights. I looked back and forth from him to Ovailia, who yelled angrily. Ilyan rebutted something before Ovailia stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Ilyan exhaled angrily before turning to me.

“Pants are in the closet.” His accent was thick, and it took me a moment to register exactly what he had said. He waved his hand toward a door on the opposite end of the room before turning back to the bathroom. I immediately decided to forgo the pants and continue with my original plan to track down Wyn.

“Oh, and Joclyn,” his head poked out from behind the bathroom door, “don’t go anywhere.”

I fumed angrily at him before he closed the door to go back to his shower. I rubbed my arms abrasively in the hopes of lessening the buzzing. It seemed to be working a bit, the motion also calming my heart rate. I breathed deeply as I made my way toward the closet, the buzzing now only a hum. My anger and frustration had never reacted this way, but then, I wasn’t sure I had ever been so emotionally charged before.

Ilyan’s closet was a strange place. It was as large as the bathroom, with clothes stacked floor to ceiling. There was little rhyme or reason to it, and it took me a bit to locate pants among the heaps of clothes. I dug through the stacks of designer jeans, grateful that none of these would fit just right. I wasn’t in any mood to be noticed by a large group of people quite yet. I chose one of the only pairs that didn’t have the perfectly placed tears that Ilyan favored, pulling them on over the shorts.

Finding a belt in the mess was surprisingly more difficult than locating pants. I held the pants around me as I searched through drawers and boxes that were littered around the large space. I carefully lifted a sheet that covered one section of the wall and stopped short.

Behind the curtain was a perfectly organized wall of clothes. Each piece of clothing hung on its own hanger, covered with a clear protective bag. On its own, it would have been surprising, given the lack of organization among the rest of the clothes.