Hunted – 58

“Fuck,” Brice growled when he looked at the clock on the bedside table and saw what time it was.

“Any time, any place,” Faolán replied with a chuckle, even though he knew that was not what Brice meant.

“I so wish it could be now, but…” Brice swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then suddenly realized that he didn’t hurt. Even his shoulder seemed fine. He looked at Faolán and saw, with great relief, that he had healed as well, even if he was still a mess from the fight. “I guess there are some advantages to being a shifter,” he murmured.

“One of them being that we met, I hope.” Faolán didn’t wait for an answer. He just put his hands on Brice’s shoulders to bring him back down so he could give him a through good-morning kiss. Brice responded the way Faolán had hoped he would, both emotionally and physically. “Do we really have to get up and moving?” Faolán asked rather petulantly moments later when Brice broke the kiss.

“You don’t,” Brice told him, stroking a knuckle along the line of his jaw. “Now that we’re safe you can sleep in until noon if you want.”

“Not without you beside me.” Faolán got up, a lascivious grin on his face as he took Brice’s hand to pull him up. “Shower time, because we both need one to, umm, wash off the blood and dirt. Right?”

Brice snorted in amusement. “I suppose we can do it together.”

“Definitely. It’s faster that way. You wash my back, I’ll wash yours.”

“Somehow I doubt we’ll be saving any time, but”—he steered his un-reluctant lover towards the bathroom—“as you said…”

* * * *

The cooling water finally drove the two lovers out of the shower stall, clean and well sated. As they dried off Faolán asked, “It’s all right if I come with you today isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, if you want to. I’d think you’d find it boring though, just standing around.”

Faolán shrugged. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.” He wrapped his towel around his waist as he headed back to the bedroom.

Brice followed, toweling his hair dry. As he did, what Faolán had said sank in. “What are you going to do now that Maximus is dead and there’s no need for you to be here? Go back to the pack?”

Faolán looked at him in surprise. “Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“It’s safe to go back now. And it’s what you know.”

Rather than answer, because he knew Brice had to get moving if he wasn’t going to be very late, Faolán replied, “We’ll talk about this later,” and left the bedroom to go down to the guest room and get dressed. As he donned his jeans he realized that he’d fled the room not because it was late, but because he didn’t like the way the conversation had been going. Did Brice want him to leave now? Was that why he’d mentioned going back to the pack?