Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(56)

“Ha.”

“And the pattern on the back of your right arm?”

“I thought it was pretty. What about that big scary hooded skeleton on your back?”

He gives me a look that says Think about it.

“Oh. Right.” My laugh is small and embarrassed. “How about that line of text going up your ribs? What language is that?”

“Cyrillic.”

“What does it say?”

“No past, no future.”

“Wow. That’s dark.”

“There’s not much humor to be found in my line of work. Except if it’s black.”

“Makes sense. What about that big red V on your left shoulder? That one looks fresh. Is it someone’s initial?”

“No.”

“Is it a Roman numeral?”

“No.”

“Then what does it stand for?”

Finished with removing the stitches, he sets the scissors and tweezers aside, balls up the bandage with the cut up pieces of thread, puts it on the dresser, then looks at me.

“Vengeance.”

I open my mouth then close it again.

“Well, well, well,” he murmurs, his gaze intense. “Look who finally got quiet.”

I bite my lower lip. His gaze drops to my mouth briefly, then he looks back into my eyes.

Honestly, I can’t think of a single thing to say. There is nothing to say. There are no words for this situation.

After a tense few moments pass, he says, “You haven’t asked me to take you home.”

There’s a question in there. The question is Why not?

To avoid his penetrating gaze, I glance down at my stomach. Then I slowly pull the shirt down, covering my scar.

“Okay.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I don’t have an answer, at least not one that makes sense. I feel him staring at me in blistering intensity, and my cheeks start to burn.

He’s about to say something when a sharp noise makes me jump. It comes from the window on the other side of the room and sounds like a person is standing outside in the dark, rapping their knuckles on the glass.

My voice turns high with panic. “What’s that sound? The wind? A bear? A serial killer?”

Cool as a cucumber, he says, “It’s Poe.”

“What’s a Poe?”

Rising from the bed, Mal crosses the room and slides up the windowpane. Cold night air rushes in. Onto the sill hops an enormous black crow, fluttering its wings.

The thing probably weighs twenty pounds. It has glittering black eyes, a razor-sharp beak, and a frightening air of intelligence.

It looks at me, squawking like Satan sent it for my soul.

“Oh, god!”

“No, Poe.” Mal holds out his arm. The creature hops onto his forearm, looks up at him, and makes a chattering birdy noise of affection.

“You’re shitting me. You have a pet crow?”

“Don’t talk about him like he’s not in the room. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

I can’t tell if that’s a joke or not, because his face is serious. Like it always is.

“Do you want to feed him?”

I look at the bird with trepidation. Unimpressed, it stares back at me. “What does it eat?”

Mal deadpans, “Human eyeballs.”

I say drily, “Great, you’re a comedian now.”

He sits at the foot of the bed and holds his arm out toward me. The bird hops down to his wrist, head bobbing. I let out a small sound of fear.

“Amuse him for a minute while I go get his food.”

The crow flutters down from Mal’s arm and lands on my thigh. It feels like someone dropped a toddler on me. The sound of fear I make this time is louder.

Mal rises. Before he turns to leave the room, I could swear I spot a smirk on his face.

Poe stands defiantly on my leg, adjusting his wings and glaring at me.

Trying to sink as far back into the pillow as I can, I say faintly, “Hi, Poe. Um. Nice to meet you. I hope you’re not a carrier of the plague.”

Squawk!

“Was that insulting? You’ll have to excuse my manners. I don’t often have conversations with winged creatures.”

Squawk!

I get the distinct sense this fucking bird wants a better apology than the one he just got, so I add lamely, “I’m sorry for saying that thing about the plague. It was rude. Um…you have very pretty feathers.”

I know the glint of satisfaction in its eyes isn’t my imagination, because it emits a softer squawk and starts grooming its feathers.

Mal returns to the room holding a small dish. When Poe sees him, he caws in excitement, hopping up and down on my leg and probably causing bruises. Mal hands the dish to me. I peer over the edge and see that it’s filled with small brown pellets.

“What is this?”

“Cat food. Crows love it.”

As if to prove his point, Poe flaps his wings, lands on my chest, pokes his head into the bowl I’m holding, and starts eating.

“Mal?”

“Yes, Riley?”

“There’s a giant crow on my chest.”

“I can see that.”

“Is it dangerous?”

Poe stops gobbling cat food pellets for a moment to turn his head and glare at me.