Page 2 of Heimlock

Whirling, Kyrielle examines all of my depressive glory. “You look like shit.”

“So do you,” I snap back. Immediate regret has me cursing under my breath and rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry. That was a real dunghole thing to say.”

Kyrielle doesn’t actually look awful — she looks beautiful. Muscles flex in her bare arms as she picks up discarded items off my coffee table. Her wings cast a glow against the dark walls; a guiding light in my shadows.

Eyebrows raised, I cross my arms. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning your depression cave.”

“Why?”

“Because you aren’t doing it.”

Tone flat, I say, “Because I didn’t invite you into my depression cave. That’s the whole point of a depression cave, Kyrielle. To wallow in darkness.”

She gives me a look of disbelief. “Wallow? Should I call you a depression pig now? And this is your very own depression sty?”

Grinding my teeth, I throw my hands up, walking into the kitchen. “Fine. I’ll clean my sty.”

Standing in front of the sink, I begin loudly throwing around dishes. Making my opinion abundantly clear.

Against my will, the awareness of her never wavers. My ears track her movements as she folds blankets and arranges pillows. A kind gesture. Unwarranted. Clenching my jaw, I focus on the dishes. This is already zapping energy out of my body. It was stupid to skip dinner, then breakfast.

As if she can read my thoughts — Fire Sprites can’t read minds, right? — Kyrielle chirps, “Have you eaten?”

The betrayal comes directly from my belly as it growls. Across the room, through an open partition separating the living room from the kitchen, she smirks.

“I’m fine,” I grind out, scrubbing a fork with intense focus.

“Orliana and Fynn will flay me if they find out I came over and didn’t feed you.”

“It’s not your job, Kyrielle.” Slamming the faucet off, I grab a dish towel to dry my hands. “Why are you here?”

Kyrielle ignores my attitude, twisting open my blinds. “Because they said you disappeared and ignored their calls. It’s been days.”

Tossing the dish towel onto the counter, I march over to where she’s folding one of my hoodies. Snatching it out of her grip, I attempt to look menacing. Not because I want to frighten her, but because I’m the frightened one. No one needs to take care of me.

“There’s a reason why. I’m fine. We’re basically acquaintances, Kyri.”

Undeterred, she lifts her chin. I’ve seen her take on men bigger than me — I know she isn’t intimidated. “We weren’t acquaintances that night in the bathroom.”

I’m unable to look away from her stony expression; at the way her dark lashes bring out the yellows and oranges of her irises. The reminder of that day in the bathroom has my blood heating. Finally feeling something after so much numbness. It’s unfortunate that I look and smell like overcooked two-week-old leftovers.

“We said it was a one-time thing. The last time I saw you was when you were riding North’s cock like it held the secrets to the universe.”

My tail twitches at the memory of her fucking that Gargoyle. The jealousy thriving inside me since that night has been staunchly ignored until now. We’d said it was a one-time thing — it’s wholly unfair to hold that situation against her.

Kyrielle’s cheeks flush. Instead of lashing out, she sniffs the air. Crossing her arms, she gives me a pointed, cruel look. “It stinks in here.”

I sweep a hand toward the door. “Feel free to see yourself out as easily as you let yourself in. Leave me to my sty.”

Instead of listening, she walks around me and stalks into the kitchen. I watch her, slack jawed. The audacity is both stunning and infuriating.

At the battle gym, Kyrielle’s known for her tenacious spirit. Over these last few months, I’ve secretly watched her in battles — she’s always ready to throw a punch.

Apparently, that stubbornness applies to all things in life.

Fantastic.