Page 77 of Wolf of Ashes
My eyes suddenly widen. “You broke off from the others, didn’t you? All four of you. Together. Something happened and you refused to go along.”
It’s a pure hypothesis on my part, but I know I’m close to the truth when the female panther’s eyes gleam at me and the males all hop down off the lounge chairs to prowl toward me.
If only they could tell me their full history. How they came to be and what happened to the others. Why they rebelled.
But I have an idea what to call them now and I can only hope they approve of the names I’m about to give them.
My heart is up in my throat when, to the female panther, I say, “Anarchy.”
Her eyes light up so brightly that it makes me squint. She draws her lips back from her teeth and snarls, a sound that quickly turns into a purr.
I turn to each of the males in turn. To the one that had the blaze on its paw when it was in its Doberman form, I say, “Riot.”
Then to the other two: “Rumble. Strife.”
Each of them gleams at me, their eyes lighting up before they lower their heads to me in a solemn bow.
“Well met,” I whisper.
The weight lifts from my shoulders. I understand now why my mother called me ‘Daughter.’ I fear that if I were ever to have a child of my own, they’d remain nameless until they could name themselves.
I look up to find Diavolo sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, which he pulled out from the table.
I don’t need his approval, but it looks like I have it when he tips his chin at me.
“Now, I’ll eat,” I say.
After quickly using the bathroom, I return to the table, scoop up the bowl of sweet, crunchy, wheat things, and head over to one of the windows. The blanket covering the panes has shifted a little to the side and we’re high enough up that I can partially see across the streets around us.
I’m gratified to find that the sight of the city lights doesn’t make me flinch. We have another night to kill before the mission and I’d like to test my eyesight without a blindfold.
I turn back to tell Diavolo so, only to find him gone from the room.
In the next moment, I hear rummaging from the bedroom.
He appears a second later, his arms full with beeswax candles.
I give him a quizzical look. “What are you doing?”
He pauses. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“But you’re perfectly clean.” I envy the way dirt doesn’t seem to stick to him at all. “Why would you take a shower?”
In contrast to Diavolo, I’ve got panther hair and soot and even a few spots of snake blood on various parts of my body. I gave my face a splash last night, but nothing more. Of the two of us, I’m the one who needs to wash.
Diavolo peers over the top of the mountain of candles to give himself a quick onceover. “Sure, there’s no visible dirt. But I’ve never showered before. I think it might be fun.”
I screw up my nose. “In my experience, showers aren’t fun.”
His eyebrows rise. “You must be doing them wrong.”
I glower at him. “How would you know they’re fun? Like you said, you haven’t showered before.”
“Plenty of dark creatures had fun in showers before they died. I saw it in their final memories.” His lips curve in a wicked smile that warms my cheeks. “Mostly because they had company.”
I splutter a little at his suggestion before I wonder if what he said is true. I spent my life in a cage, so how the fuck would I know? “Showers aren’t meant to be taken alone?”
He shrugs. “It looked that way to me.” He manages to approach me at a stealthy prowl, despite the precarious positioning of the uppermost candles. “Besides, I don’t think it’s possible to get completely clean unless someone else scrubs your back.”
