Page 93 of Playing with Fire

If I was, I didn’t care. “No idea. I’m feeling pretty good, though, all things considered. If my ribs are cracked, they don’t hurt much, my headache’s mostly gone, and the stitches aren’t bothering me at all. I thought they would fall out when I transformed. I thought the cuts would have closed up, too.”

“That’s Grandfather’s doing. He said something about keeping your insides where they belonged, and after that, I stopped asking questions and decided to be grateful.”

“I’m pretty sure he was exaggerating, Quinn. I was never at risk of spilling my guts.”

Quinn’s expression soured. “You were hurt.”

I loved his growl so much. “It’s my fault I ran in front of a transport. I earned my stitches. Hey, you should be proud of me. Before I ran out into traffic, I smacked an incubus with a door, then I mauled him a bit. I also went straight to the cops, too.”

“You stuck your head in a cruiser because you were cold.”

“It still counts.”

“I really don’t think that counts. You could have gone up to them, told them you’d been kidnapped, given them my name, and then stuck your head into the cruiser to warm up.”

Of course he’d use logic against me. “Says the man who lugged his blanket all the way from New York.”

He smiled at me. “You like my blanket, which is why you’re still snuggling with it.”

Busted. “That’s cheating, Mr. Samuel Quinn.”

“I’m known to do underhanded deeds to secure my victory. No more joking around. This next part is going to be long, tiring, and very frustrating. I thought I’d warn you before it begins. We’ll have to go over the same thing many times. We’ll discuss a lot of possibilities, most of them will be wrong or a dead end, and it’ll make you cranky.”

“I come cranky by default. I thought you knew this already.”

“Crankier, then. We need to try to figure out Audrey’s goals so we can get ahead of her, especially if she’s capable of crafting gorgon dust.”

I grimaced. “Or is working with someone who can.”

“Yes.”

While it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I couldn’t force my thoughts away from the fact Quinn had brought his blanket with him. “You really brought your blanket from New York because I like it?”

Smiling, he reached across the table and flicked my forehead. “Yes, of course.”

I didn’t understand how something as insignificant as a blanket could hurt so much. I didn’t deserve him bringing me anything. Why? Every emotion I had packed away over the years escaped from their prison and converged in a single spot within my chest.

Quinn stood, circled the table, and crouched beside my chair. “Bailey, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t until he lifted his hands and brushed his thumbs across my cheeks I realized I was actually crying. It’d been so long since I’d cried without being sick or drugged the fact I could startled me. I swallowed to suppress them, but the tears came harder and faster.

I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve him.

“Bailey, don’t cry. I thought you’d enjoy having the blanket. What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t do anything to deserve—”

My traitor mouth betrayed me, confessing my dark, dirty secret all on its own. I opened my mouth to force out an apology, to somehow take the words back, but Quinn sighed and pressed his fingertips to my lips. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve something like that. I brought it for you because I thought it’d make you happy and you’d like it. I love you.”

Maybe his words would have made other women scream for joy or lose their minds, but not me. I cried harder. Quinn dislodged his blanket from the back of my chair and wrapped it around me, kissed my forehead, and sighed. “You’ve been told all your life you don’t deserve anything, haven’t you? It makes me want to beat those assholes who dare to call themselves your parents.”

I shook my head to deny it, but Quinn cupped my cheek in his hand. “You’re just going to have to get used to it, because I’m never going to stop. When I think you need something to help you feel better, I’m going to bring you our blanket. I’m going to try to make your problems disappear, though I’m starting to think I might be striving for the impossible. How am I supposed to keep the Calamity Queen out of trouble?”

A choked laugh escaped me. “You don’t.”

“I’m doomed. I suppose I’ll just have to happily suffer. I mean it. You better get used to it, because I really won’t stop. When you’re stuck as a unicorn, I’ll bring you roses when I can’t convince the CDC to give me C4. I draw the line at magic-infused napalm, though. You might talk me into gasoline with a few additives so it has a gel-like texture and higher ignition point, but we won’t call it napalm. I’m pretty sure I can come up with plenty of other little things you’ll like.”

“But—”