Inked

happened with annoying frequency in D.C. The window in Rule’s bedroom—in their bedroom—faced the bed, and the drapes were open. Water blurred the glass. The smeared shimmer of city lights outside fit well with the washed-clean feel of Lily’s body, as if all her edges were blurred, too. Her fingers tingled. Rule’s hand sifted slowly through her hair.
    The apartment was on the top floor, high enough that the loss of privacy was more symbolic than real; Lily was getting used to it. At the moment, curled into Rule’s body, warm and drowsy with the aftermath of passion, it didn’t bother her at all.
    She stirred, unready for sleep. “This morning I notified the manager at my place that I’m not renewing my lease.”
    His hand stilled—then brushed the hair from her face so he could press a kiss on her temple. “Good.”
    “We have to talk about how we’re going to split expenses here.”
    “Mmm. Do we have to talk about it now?”
    She smiled. “I guess not. But I’ll need to know how much your utilities run, and the—”
    He propped up on one elbow, kissed her firmly, and said, “I’ll print you out a spreadsheet in the morning.”
    “We’re leaving in the morning.”
    “My printer’s quick.” He stayed propped up, looking out the window. His words had been light, but his eyes were heavy.
    No wonder about why. Steve’s memorial at Clanhome had been today. His body wouldn’t be released for another couple weeks, so they would be making yet another cross-country flight then, for the burial. Lily wouldn’t attend that, but Rule needed to.
    After a moment he said, “I haven’t been kind in my grief.”
    “Grief is seldom kind.”
    “No.” Now he looked at her. “But I regret being an ass.”
    A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “You apologized already.” When he woke from the bane stupor, and right after throwing up the first time, he’d apologized for using her password. He’d done it again when the dry heaves hit.
    Wolfbane really did make lupi sick as dogs…though that was a phrase she’d refrained from using. So far.
    “I felt guilty,” he said quietly. “I’d allowed such distance to grow between me and Steve…he still mattered, but…” His words ran out, leaving his mouth tight with pain.
    “Don’t a lot of relationships have cycles? Neither of you had given up on the friendship. That’s what counts. If Adele hadn’t killed him, there’s every chance you and Steve would have grown close again when the time was right.” She flattened her hand on his chest. “She robbed both of you of the chance for that.”
    “She nearly robbed me of more. If you hadn’t checked your messages, or if you hadn’t understood right away something was wrong—”
    “Let’s not go there.”
    After the nausea passed, Rule had been keenly embarrassed by how easily Adele had tricked him. She’d called and asked him to meet her for a memorial ritual at the spot Steve was killed. Rule had planned to check out the spot anyway, plus he’d been fixated on Friar as the culprit. He’d agreed. When he arrived, Adele had tossed some herbs on the little camp stove. He’d lost the use of his body, and Adele had gained the use of his phone. She’d used it to send that text message, hoping to distract Lily so she could grab Mariah and set up the phony murder/suicide.
    Rule smiled, but his eyes had that determined look. He wasn’t finished. “In addition to guilt, I was afraid. I’d allowed myself to lose one dear friend in some ways even before he died. How did I know I could keep you—keep us… Hell. I don’t know how to say it.”
    “Oh, because you have such trouble with long-term relationships, you mean? Like Cullen. It’s terrible the way you’ve allowed that friendship to falter, and him so easy to get along with.”
    For a second she thought she’d said exactly the wrong thing, reminding him of a missing friend. Then he barked out a laugh and eased back against the pillows. “Easy to get along with. Yes, that’s how I think of Cullen. Are you trying to say that all relationships don’t follow the same path?”
    “Also that I’m not Steve.” She threaded her fingers through his. “I don’t let go easily. Kind of like chewing gum. You’d have to keep scraping me off.”
    “There’s a romantic image.” He squeezed her hand, clearly amused. “I wanted it to be Robert Friar, you know. He seemed…a more worthy enemy.”
    “I know.” She suspected Rule