Nightingale (8 page)

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s find you something to wear.”

I rummaged through my unpacked boxes of clothes, but no man of the house meant no men’s clothes. In the end, the only thing long enough to cover the superhero was my old, gray flannel robe—and it reached only to mid-calf. Still, I helped him slip into it.

“Soft,” Talon murmured. “But not as soft as your touch.”

My hands froze. He was temporarily blind so he didn’t see the horrid blush screaming across my face, but I could feel each and every one of my pores turning tomato-red. If I didn’t know how much blood the superhero had lost in the past few hours, I would have thought he was flirting with me—and been embarrassed at how much I liked it.

No, I decided, Talon would never flirt with me. Oh, he might exchange witty, sexually suggestive banter with the mysterious Wren who’d saved his life. But he’d never engage in such activities with
me
. Not if he could see me for who I really was—good ole dependable Abby Appleby.

“Come on. I know you must be tired. I’ll show you to the bed.”

I took Talon’s hand, ignoring the heat of his calloused fingers on mine, and led him farther into the loft. My king-size bed stood against the back wall, flanked by a line of floor-to-ceiling windows. Heavy, black drapes covered the glass, cutting off my view of the patio outside.

I turned Talon around, put my hands on his shoulders, and eased him onto the mattress. “There you go.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Talon said. “I’m feeling much better now.”

I didn’t see how. If I’d been shot by Bandit, I still would have been whimpering like a baby, but Talon seemed positively cheerful. Maybe he still felt the effects of the adrenaline from the battle. Or maybe he just enjoyed the danger, like so many of the heroes and villains did.

“You’ll sleep on the bed,” I said in my best, no-nonsense,
I’m-the-boss-dammit
voice. “You’ll be more comfortable, and besides, it’s closer to the bathroom. I don’t want you tripping over something and injuring your shoulder again.”

Not that there was much to trip over. Besides the bed, my loft contained a sectional couch, a kitchen table with two chairs, my desk, and my entertainment center with its TV, enormous sound system, and stacks of CDs and albums. The rest of the space was open and empty, a hollow shell.

I helped Talon swing his legs up over the side of the bed and get settled under the covers. I smoothed the comforter and blankets down around him.
 

“I’ll be right across the room if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Wren,” Talon said, catching my hand, “for everything.”

I closed my eyes, savoring the slow stroke of his thumb against mine. He had such a soft touch, and was so careful with his hands, as if I was made of the finest crystal. His gentleness, this simple show of courtesy, of affection, stirred something inside me I’d all but forgotten. Talon kept sliding his fingers over my hands like he never wanted to stop, and I didn’t want him to. But he needed to rest, and I needed to get control of myself. So, reluctantly, I tugged my hand away.

“Good night, Wren,” he whispered.

His voice sent tingles through my body, just as his touch had done moments ago.

“Good night, Talon,” I whispered back.

Chapter Six

A deep rumbling jolted me out of my sweet, sweet sleep. I sat straight up, eyes wide, heart pounding, breath caught in my throat. Was someone breaking in? What was going on? Why was I sleeping on the couch instead of in my own bed?

The sound rattled around inside my skull, the way all loud, unexpected noises did. I forced myself to listen to it, to focus, concentrate, and determine what it really was. With my enhanced hearing, a pin dropping twelve feet away could be as sharp, big, and painful as someone hammering a nail into the wall.

The sound came again, deep and even and sort of … phlegmy. And I realized what—or rather who—it was.

Talon. He was snoring.

Oh
no
. He was
not
.

If there was one thing I hated, one
noise
I detested above all others, it was the sound of someone snoring—I. Can’t. Stand. It!

I need calm to sleep. Peace. Quiet. Dead freaking silence. Snoring is the antithesis of all those things—squared. An evil that should be eradicated, along with ubervillains. If someone’s snoring, it means he’s getting sleep—sweet, sweet sleep I am not getting. Instead, I’m the one awake, listening to a motorcycle roar through my head every time the snorer takes a low, slow, rattling breath. I had hated the noise before I developed supersenses. I absolutely despised it now.
 

I tried to ignore it, tried to block the snoring out of my mind and focus on going back to sleep. When that didn’t work, I dug a pair of earplugs out of my vest and stuffed them in my ears. They muffled the noise, but didn’t completely block it. Now, it just sounded like Talon was in the bathroom instead of here in the main room. So I added a pillow. And a blanket. And the three sheets I’d put on the couch. Piling them all on top of my head.

Talon’s snores penetrated my defenses, piercing them like Bandit’s bullet had shot through his shoulder.

After an hour of tossing, turning, and muttering curses, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I unwrapped the sheets from around my head, tossed the blanket on the floor, and dug out the earplugs. Then, I marched over to the edge of the bed. A shaft of moonlight slipped through the drapes, slicing across Talon’s face. I didn’t need it, though. With my eyesight, if there was even a hint of light in a room, I could see just as well as if it was noon.
 

The superhero was lying on his back, his good arm thrown up over his head. The sheet had slid down, bunching around his waist. For once I didn’t leer at his toned chest. All I wanted was to stop that horrid, horrid noise coming out of his mouth. My gaze crept to the pillow next to him, and my fingers twitched. Suffocation would be one way to put an end to it. He was probably still weak from being shot …

I made my fingers unclench. No, I couldn’t do that. So, I decided on a different course of action. If I wasn’t sleeping, then neither was he.

“Hey!” I said, poking the superhero with my finger. “Wake up!”

I reached out to poke him again, when Talon sprang into action. He might not have any superpowers, but his excellent reflexes more than made up for it. He grabbed my wrists, yanked me down on the bed, and rolled on top of me before I knew what had happened.

“Hey!” I snapped, trying to squirm out from beneath him. “Watch who you’re throwing around!”

“Oh, Wren. It’s just you.” Talon yawned. “What do you want? Is something wrong?”

“You were snoring,” I accused, trying to ignore how hot his body felt against mine. He was a hundred times warmer than my microfleece sheets could ever be.

“Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

I gritted my teeth. “You might say that.”
 

Talon didn’t let me up, though, and he didn’t move away. We lay there on the bed, like a couple caught in the throes of passion—his thigh wedged between mine, his elbows just scraping the sides of my breasts. Talon’s breath puffed against my face. He smelled of mint. How could the man have minty-fresh breath at five in the morning? Somehow, he did.
 

I couldn’t see Talon’s eyes behind the visor, but another part of him grew rather active against my thigh. Another loud
thump-thump-thump
caught my attention, and I realized it was his heart. Racing—just like mine.

For a moment, I thought of raising my lips to his, of indulging in this unexpected attraction I felt for the superhero, of being reckless and carefree and having what I wanted. Lust at first sight wasn’t such a bad thing, was it? The people in
Slaves for Superhero Sex
had all sorts of sexcapades with the city’s heroes and villains. College kids had one-night stands like they were going out of style. Bigtime’s finest businessmen and women bed-hopped like it was an Olympic sport. Surely, one little kiss couldn’t hurt—

Talon shifted his weight, breaking the lustful fog that had settled over me.

No
—
no, Abby
, I chastised myself. Bad, bad idea. He’d been shot a couple of hours earlier. I wasn’t going to take advantage of a wounded man, no matter how much my body screamed at me to do it. Besides, lust at first sight only led to early-morning regrets.

“Um, do you want to let me up, please?” I asked.

He let out another breath. “Of course.”

Talon rolled away, taking the long, hard warmth of his body with him. I scrambled off the bed and hustled back to the couch.

“I’ll try to keep the snoring to a minimum,” Talon called out in a husky tone.

“I’d appreciate that,” I replied, diving into my cocoon of cooling sheets.

“Wake me if it bothers you again.”

“Sure,” I said, even though I had no intention of getting within five feet of him for the rest of the night. I didn’t trust myself—not now.

We lay there in silence. After about thirty minutes, Talon drifted back to sleep, but it was a long time before I followed, and Talon’s snoring didn’t have anything to do with it.

Well, not that much.

#

I woke up a few hours later. I didn’t feel a hundred percent recharged but good enough to face the day and whatever it had in store—superheroes included.
 

I threw back the sheets and padded over to the windows. Talon was still asleep, but thankfully, not snoring now. I stared at him. The superhero had turned onto his right side, with his arm curled under his head. I didn’t see any blood seeping through the bandages on his left shoulder. My nose twitched. I didn’t smell any either. The G-man superhero was tough, even if he didn’t have a power to help him battle evil and fight crime.

He looked so sexy sleeping that I reached out a hand, longing to brush the chestnut hair off his forehead, to see if it was as soft and silky as it looked. But I curled my fingers into a fist. Touching the superhero was a bad, bad idea. Besides, I didn’t want to get shocked by his damn visor again.

So I walked over to the windows, threw back the drapes—
 

And immediately closed them. The sun bounced off a thick layer of snow so white it pierced my eyes with its dazzling brilliance. I groaned, trying to ignore the migraine that popped to life inside my skull. In addition to loud noises, unexpected bright lights made my head ache.

“Wren?” Talon asked, stirring on the bed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I replied, peeking out through a crack in the drapes this time instead of yanking them wide open. “Except it looks like it snowed a couple feet last night. Nothing’s going on.”

I didn’t see any cars in the street, except for the ones covered up past their wheels in the white stuff. None of the usual vendors populated the corner. No taxis, no one going to work or church. Even the city’s numerous pigeons hunkered down in the eaves on the side of the building. I didn’t see any tracks where a plow might have bulldozed through.
 

“Let’s see what the news folks are saying.”
 

I turned the TV to SNN. In addition to being devoted to all things hero and villain, the round-the-clock news channel was also the go-to source for information in the city.
 

“Can you turn it up?” Talon asked. “I can’t quite hear it over here.”

“Oh. Sure.”

I cranked up the volume, wincing as the SNN theme music blared on and added to the ache in my skull. A news anchor with a tan face and a bad toupee smiled into the camera.

“Well, folks, this is one Bigtime snowstorm we’ve woken up to this morning. Heh, heh, heh. The city received almost three feet of snow overnight. Chief Sean Newman of the Bigtime Police Department has ordered all businesses shut down for the day while plows clear the streets. We go out live now to Kelly Caleb, who’s made her way to Paradise Park. Kelly, what’s the situation?”

The camera cut to a blond woman wearing a fuchsia snow suit, gloves, and a toboggan with a fuzzy ball on the end of it. She smiled, her perfect teeth whiter even than the dazzling snow around her.

“Well, Steve, I’m live in Paradise Park, which has become a winter wonderland today …”

Kelly talked about the record amount of snow the city had received and how everything was canceled because of it. I was grateful the O’Hara-Potter party had taken place yesterday instead of being scheduled for tonight. My next event, one of the Berkley Brighton memorial dedications, wasn’t until Tuesday, which should be enough time for the city to dig itself out.

A noise on the TV caught my attention. A shimmering blur zoomed by Kelly, sending sprays of snow up around her before suddenly stopping. Swifte, another one of Bigtime’s many superheroes, beamed into the camera. Usually, Swifte took center stage with his flashy white costume, but today he faded into the snowy background.

“Hey, Kelly, what’s happening?” Swifte asked.

Kelly looked over her shoulder and ducked. A large snowball zoomed over her head and smacked into Swifte’s chest.
 

A trilling laugh floated through the TV, and the cameraman swung his lens around to a woman wearing an ice-blue suit. A giant snowflake flashed like a strobe light on the front of her costume. Wynter. Another one of the city’s heroes whose icy powers were just what her name suggested.