Page 85 of Heimlock

“Positive.” Without waiting for a response, I will my shaky legs to bring me into the locker room. Digging my teeth into my lip, I struggle to hold back tears. Trinte probably hasn’t considered all of the help I’ll need, including dressing, showering, and eating. I’m right-handed, which makes it all the worse.

These next few days are most likely going to be an extension of tonight’s humiliation. Orliana would’ve been better suited, but she and Fynn are taking Joulian to Slous. I’d be so upset at myself for forcing her to take care of me all because I’m afraid of being vulnerable with Trinte.

He’s still waiting at the door when I exit. Without asking, he grabs my belongings, shoving them into his jeans pocket.

When we’re outside on the landing platform, I deflate further. “How am I going to get home?”

Trinte looks at me with such compassion that it increases my need to cry. “I’ve got you. Nothing a little magyck can’t fix.”

He steps back, never taking his eyes off me. Trinte’s still watching when he shifts into his Dragon form.

Ready?

I nod, unsure of what he’s about to do. A band of invisible power wraps around my waist, lifting me effortlessly. My wings spasm, instinctually trying to fly. I let out a scream through gritted teeth.

Easy, Firefly.

Trinte brings me to where I sat last night, but the magyck keeps me firmly in place. My body stays steady as he takes off, powerful wings lifting the bulk of his body easily. We arrive at my apartment far faster than normal; benefits of fifty foot long wings, I guess.

The closer we get to my front door, though, the harder my heart beats. Each step toward the second floor feels like a dead man’s walk. If it were up to me, Trinte wouldn’t know how I live my life. Even on a good day, I don’t like to look at how I live my life.

When we reach the door, my body’s trembling with beads of sweat roll down my spine. I don’t invite people for a very specific reason.

Trinte pulls the keys out of his pocket. “Which one?”

I point it out. “Look. Before we go in, I need you to promise me that you won’t judge me.”

Confusion flickers across his face. “Judge you?”

Mouth going dry, I motion for him to open the door. “Nevermind. It’s too late. Just try not to laugh?”

He turns the key but continues to stare. “Am I about to find out you have thirty more murder victims hanging from hooks in here?”

The joke lands, loosening some of the tension coiled in my exhausted body. “No, no bodies.” I add with a grim smile, “Just ghosts.”

Trinte raises an eyebrow, pushing open the door. Wind chimes, carefully hung above the door, tinkle. He ducks. “Booby traps?”

“Not when you walk in.”

He laughs, like I’m kidding, then immediately sobers when I don’t join him. “Oh.” Stepping back, he keeps a steady hand on my elbow so I can walk into the apartment.

People don’t come here. No one is invited over. For good reason. With him beside me, I look at the place I call home with new eyes.

My apartment’s sparse in decoration. Nothing’s on the walls. He looks down at the pre-packed bag leaning against the wall. Inside is everything I’d need if the need to run appears.

No couch. The only furniture is a single comfy chair by the single window. It’s where I read when there’s time. The window itself is barred, with wind chimes attached to the bottom.

When he checks to the left, he sees the inside of my kitchen. A coffee maker … and that’s it. I’m not much of a cook. But a large cast iron is always sitting on the stove, waiting to be used. For food or as a weapon.

In fact, the only things on the ground are items that could be weapons. A bat; hammer; another cast iron. Which is ironic, since I could just burn someone to death. But they make me feel more secure.

Trinte’s expression is inscrutable. I chew on the inside of my mouth, ready for him to laugh or minimize my paranoia.

Instead, he says, “Would you like a shower first?”

I nod silently, feeling an avalanche of relief mixing with the fear.

Closing the door behind us, Trinte pauses at the eight deadbolts, then locks them one-by-one. When he’s done, he turns back to me. “Where’s the bathroom?”