Calladia shouldn’t have found him physically attractive then. And she hadn’t—not really—just a passing thought when she’d first clapped eyes on his cheekbones and lean, elegant frame, an objective observation soon subsumed by pure rage. She definitely shouldn’t find him attractive now.
He was still glowering. Calladia turned her lips down in an exaggerated frown and cocked her head, mocking him.
“Blast,” he muttered.
Calladia kept waiting. He might have the patience of an immortal, but she had the kind of patience that came from pure spite. No way he was winning this standoff.
Astaroth threw up his free hand. “Fine,” he spat. “I’ll go to hospital.”
Triumph swelled in Calladia’s chest. “That’s what I thought,” she said. “Now get dressed.”
FIVE
I look awful,” Astaroth groused, running his fingers through sleep-tangled, blood-caked hair as he peered at himself in the mirror.
Calladia was leaning against the doorframe, watching him “primp,” as she’d called it. “Yep,” she said cheerfully.
“You don’t have to agree.” Astaroth scratched his neck, feeling disgruntled and uncomfortable. He eyed the shower. “I don’t suppose your hospitality extends to a shower?”
Calladia sniffed in his direction, then wrinkled her nose. “You do smell rank.”
“Lovely,” he muttered. He turned to the shower and dropped the sheet.
“Do you have any modesty?” Calladia asked.
“No.” Astaroth bent to turn the shower knob, biting the inside of his cheek when Calladia gasped. If she didn’t like it, she could stop looking.
Once the water was steaming hot, he stepped in and slid the door closed. Through the clouded glass, he saw Calladia’s silhouette still in the doorway.
“Supervising?” he asked.
“I don’t trust you not to use my good conditioner.”
He studied the options on display. “None of these look good.” Was that a three-in-one conditioner, shampoo, and body wash? The horror!
“I could make you wash with steel wool.”
The only options were cheap-looking shampoo and conditioner or the dreaded three-in-one. How did she manage to have such soft-looking hair when she was abusing it with subpar products? He had too much self-esteem to go with the worst option, so he grabbed the basic bottles of shampoo and conditioner.
Five minutes later, he felt much better. The water at the bottom of the tub was running clear again after the blood had washed away, and he smelled like kiwi fruit.
“I’m coming out,” he warned Calladia.
A yellow towel was tossed over the top of the shower. He caught it and dried off before wrapping it around his waist.
When he stepped out, Calladia handed him his clothes, folded as well as they could be with blood stiffening the fabric. He grimaced at the thought of getting dressed in them again.
Calladia sniffed the air a few times, and her jaw dropped in outrage. “You used my good conditioner!”
“No, I used your slightly-less-objectionable conditioner.”
“Ugh.” Calladia shook her head. “Hurry up. I’ll be waiting in the hall.”
After swiping her deodorant over his pits, Astaroth dressed quickly. The fabric was scratchy against his damp skin and smelled of body odor and dried blood. He slicked his hair back, studying his reflection.
His black eye wasn’t puffy, thankfully, and he told himself the bruising looked rakish. The scabbed-over cut behind his left temple was impressively ugly. When he prodded the skin near it, pain clanged around his skull. He winced.
It wasn’t his best look, but this wasn’t his best moment. He contemplated Calladia’s toothbrush, then decided she would definitely draw the line at him borrowing that, so he put toothpaste on his finger and ran it over his teeth.
“Ready?” Calladia asked.
Astaroth spit, then rinsed out his mouth. “As I’ll ever be,” he replied.
That unknown voice was still cautioning him against seeing a doctor—they can’t know what you are, or you’ll never be able to claim your legacy—but Astaroth didn’t have any other ideas, and he needed his memories back as soon as possible to figure out what was happening.
Calladia was tapping her toe in the hallway. She seemed full of restless energy in general, as if she was most comfortable in motion. She gave him a cursory look, then turned and jogged down the stairs.
He followed, eyeing the decor curiously. Even in the dark, there’d been no missing the daffodil-yellow exterior of her narrow, two-story house, and inside was just as bright. The walls were painted cream with yellow accents, and woven blue rugs dotted the floorboards. The overall aesthetic reminded him of a summer sky.