"You know as well as I do how much you haven't done," the angel said softly. "Blood, sweat and tears, that's what it's going to take. "
Lowering his head, Tohr rubbed his temples, feeling like he was going to scream. Fucking bullshit -
"You're going out tonight, yeah?" the angel murmured. "So when you get back, come find me. "
"You're with me anyway, aren't you. "
"Don't know what you're talking about. Let's meet after Last Meal. "
"What are you going to do with me?"
"You say you want help - well, I'm going to give it to you. "
The angel got to his feet and sauntered toward the bathroom's door. Then doubled back and got his frickin' cookies. "Until dawn, my friend. "
Left by himself, Tohr briefly considered the merits of punching the mirror - but then figured he might endanger his chances of going out and finding some lessers to kill. And right now? That prospect was the only thing keeping him in his own skin.
Blood. Sweat. Tears.
Cursing, he took a shower, shaved, and went out into the bedroom. No'One was already gone, likely so that she could make it down to First Meal separately from him. She did this every night, even though the show of discretion couldn't possibly fool anybody.
You know as well as I do how much you haven't done.
Damn it to hell, Lassiter probably did have a point - and not just about the whole sex thing.
As he thought about it, he realized he never explained himself to No'One. Like, there was no way she didn't know that he'd had a nightmare again - him popping off the bed like it was a toaster and moody-ing around was a neon sign in the room. But he never talked about it with her. Never gave her an opening to ask about it.
He did
n't really talk to her about anything, actually. Not his work out in the field. Not his Brothers. Not the ongoing struggles the king was having with the glymera.
And there were so many other distances that he maintained. . .
At his closet, he ripped out a pair of leathers, stepped into them, and -
The waistband jammed at his thighs. And when he pulled them again, they stayed put. Yanking them even harder, they. . . split at the fly into two halves.
What. The. Fuck.
Goddamn pieces of shit.
He grabbed another pair. And ran into the same problem - his thighs were too big for them.
Going through his closet, he checked all his sets of fighting clothes. Now that he thought about it, things had been getting tighter lately. Jackets constricting his shoulders. Shirts ripped under the armpits at the end of the night. Thighgate.
Glancing over his shoulder, he caught his reflection in the mirror over one of the dressers.
Damn, he was. . . back to the size he had once been. Strange that he hadn't noticed until tonight, but his body, now on a regular feeding schedule, had blown out to its previous dimensions, his shoulders corded with muscle, his arms bulging, his stomach rippled, his thighs swollen with power.
No'One was responsible for this. It was her blood in him making him this strong.
Turning away, he went over to the phone by the bed, ordered up another pair of leathers in a bigger size, stat, and then parked it on the chaise.
His eyes locked on the closet.
The mating dress was still in it, pushed to the rear, hanging where he had put it when he'd resolved to try to move on.
Lassiter was right: He hadn't taken things as far as he could. But, God, having sex with someone else? As in actual sex? There had only ever been his Wellsie.