Page 59 of Throwing Shade
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“Tomorrow night,”Laurent said.
“What? No. Jude’s been missing since Friday. It’s Monday. We can’t wait any longer to find her.”
“We have to.” Laurent disengaged the kickstand.
“Why?”
His hands paused on the ignition, and his cheeks flushed briefly, but when he spoke, his eyes had regained their usual acerbic distance. “Harry has to verify that the bloodsucker we need to speak to is in town. No point surprising someone with a confrontation who isn’t there to receive it.”
“Maybe, but that’s not all. Tell me or I’ll apologize profusely for any and all previous verbal slights, which you seem to dislike.”
“Merde, you’re annoying.”
“Wait till I really get going. Well?”
“Tonight is the last night of the full moon.”
“Don’t you shift at will?” I said.
“Yeah, but there’s still a pull. I’m not as in control during a full moon.”
I tensed and stepped back.
Laurent rolled his eyes. “It’s not sunset for another half hour. 9:21PM. You’re fine.”
“As were you on Saturday when you fought Alex.”
“Because the sun hadn’t fully set. You getting on or what?”
He wouldn’t risk riding if a shift was imminent, and I had my cloaking to fall back on. I got on the back of the seat. “Is this why you’ve been so grumpy the entire time I’ve known you? It’s that time of the month?”
“It’s not a period,” he snapped.
“Sure it is. The word period comes from the Greek, but transitioned into the Latin, ‘periodus,’ means recurring cycle.”
He looked down at me haughtily. “Did I look curious for further details?”
“You hide it well, but all is revealed under my keen observations. You’re welcome.”
He snorted but one side of his mouth quirked up in a half-grin.
I patted his shoulder. “Try a nice bath. Or chocolate. They usually chase away my crankiness.”
“There is nothing to chase away,” he said through gritted teeth and swung his leg over the bike.
“Whatever you say, buddy.” I smirked at his back.
The motorcycle started up with a loud rumble and I tightened my hold on Laurent’s waist.
The adrenaline of the ride blew away my edginess from the Bear’s Den, if not my worry for my friend, though the world of everyday people going about their business had a surreal edge to it. Did that dad with the baby carrier outside the fruit market have magic? Was the asshole cyclist riding on the sidewalk actually a shifter?
Laurent leaned in to a right turn, the motorcycle dipping low to the ground, and I pressed my cheek against his back. His traps bunched and flexed under his leather jacket, and when I felt his soft laugh rumble through him, I whooped.
It had rained lightly while we were inside and the wet concrete smelled sweet and musty.
I was giddy, colors whizzing by tweaked and sharpened, like the metallic purple of the Corvette next to us or the sunflower yellow on a restaurant awning. We hurtled through the city in a cloud of freedom.
