TheSociety by Lilith Saintcrow

Author:Lilith Saintcrow [Saintcrow, Lilith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-09-29T15:25:39+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rowan turned over, pulling the sheet up. Then she yawned and opened her eyes.

Delgado sat on that awful, battered orange armchair, his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He looked tired, and he was wearing the same clothes he'd worn yesterday—jeans, a black T-shirt, and a pair of boots. Does he always sleep in his clothes? Rowan wondered.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, watching him, sudden guilt biting sharply under her breastbone. She hadn't even thought to inquire whose room this was; she'd thought it was a spare bedroom even though his clothes were in the closet and the chair was obviously his. She hadn't been thinking clearly at all.

Sunlight poured in through the French door leading to the balcony, poured in through the window as well. Rowan yawned again and ran her fingers back through her hair, wincing as she encountered tangles. “Morning,” she said, and his shoulders hunched.

When he looked up, he didn't look any different. Same flat hazel eyes, same straight serious mouth. He was a little pale, that was all. “What's wrong?” Rowan asked immediately. “Did something happen?"

He shrugged, sitting up and stretching, the movement bringing him to his feet in one fluid motion. “How are you? Sleep well?"

"Don't put me off.” She slid her legs out of bed. “What's wrong, Justin?"

Nobody else calls him that, she realized suddenly. It's Delgado, or sir, or Del if they're feeling friendly. Nobody else calls him by his real name. That made her frown, thinking about it. Had he told her his name, or had she picked it out of the air? She sometimes did that, and most people assumed they had just told her their names. She tried not to do that. Mom had always said it was rude to use someone's name without permission.

"We lost another operative,” he said quietly. “One of Shelton's gang. It's just depressing, that's all. I hate losing good people.” He watched her closely, she realized, without seeming to. Why does he do that?

"I'm sorry,” she said immediately. It seemed like being one of the “operatives” was dangerous. This was the eighth one she'd heard about dying. “Why do they ... I mean, what..."

"Sigma,” he said, turning away. He crossed to the window and looked out. “Fucking Sigma. You want some coffee?"

"I should.” She watched his broad back as he leaned against the wall, the sunlight bringing out chestnut highlights in his dark hair. She couldn't see any weapons, but she knew he was probably armed. Was it wrong to find that so comforting?

The hardwood floor was cool under her feet as she approached him cautiously. When she was close enough, she touched his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she repeated. “I know it ... it affects you.” Her fingers seemed to burn where they touched him, and her stomach fluttered.

He glanced at her, sunlight turning his skin coppery. Rowan was suddenly aware that she had just rolled out of bed. Her hair was tangled, and she was probably crusty from sleeping.

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