Page 71 of Find My Way Down to You

He continues looking around from his place near the sofa.

Something hits me. “Howdid you know where I live?”

“I am a Deathless.”

“You’re a stalker,” I accuse without any heat behind my words.

“August, do you truly believe you are worth that kind of attention and effort?”

I gasp, scandalized. He gives me a blank stare. I want to punch him. Right in that pretty perfectly shaped jaw. Before I can, I hear a soft meow.

Diana has abandoned my filthy socks to strut up to Cary. For a second, I think she might swipe her claws at him. Defend my honor. Instead, she sniffs one of his boots, then rubs leisurely against his leg,purring.

“Traitor,” I hiss at her.

Diana happily ignores me.

“She’s not usually this…friendly,” I say.

Cary lowers to one knee. He stares into Diana’s enormous gold eyes. She meows again. Carefully, he scratches behind her ears. Ducking his head, Cary whispers words I can’t hear to her.

She purrs again, sweetly.

“What did you say to her?” I ask.

Cary stands, avoiding my question. “I am here to escort you to Aides,” he says. “For Milos’s celebration.”

Today has been so long, so heavy, I almost forgot about that.

He tilts his head. “Did you change your mind?”

“N-no,” I blurt. “I still want to go.”

Ineedto go.

The television’s bluish glow cuts across the angles of his face. Moonlight reflecting off an arrowhead. “Then let us go,” he says with a slight hesitance.

He turns toward the door.

“Hold on!” I look down at myself. My stained T-shirt. Bare toes wiggling on the carpet. The front door is still open, and a small breeze passes through the hole in my joggers. Shyly, I admit, “I don’t really own anything to wear to a celebration.”

His eyes drag over me. “Nothing?”

“Do you want to look in my closet?” I chew out.

There’s that little twitch to his lips again. Almost a smirk. “Are you inviting me to your bedroom?”

Heat runs through me like a flood. He lets out a muted snort. Caryactuallyfinds this funny.

“Your current attire is not a problem,” he says.

God, I hate the way he talks. No, I hate that I’m growing accustomed to it. That I find it a little endearing.

I glance around the apartment. My next questions feel so silly: “How are we getting to Aides? You need water, right?”

He nods.

“Are we going to fill up the kitchen sink?” My face screws up. “Or get in the shower?”