Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
It’s funny, because one of the things that’s actually pretty common in the After is hair products. You don’t think about what’ll be common in an apocalypse. Or rather, you assume you’ll be finding survival shit all over the place. Nope. If there’s a gun or a Swiss Army knife to be found, someone’s already grabbed it. Instead, there are tons of hair product and nail polish and girly stuff that no one gives a shit about when they’re trying to survive. They make me sad to see, because I wish we were still back in that society when you could wear glittery hair clips and paint your toenails pink and not have to worry about where your next meal is coming from or if a dragon’s going to set fire to the building you’re hiding in. The apartment we’ve been hiding in had a very well-stocked bathroom full of girly toiletries, which I promptly raided. Aerosol hairspray always has its uses, but I also grabbed the detangling spray and a wide-toothed comb. Not only for my own hair, but detangling spray has oils in it and those can be used to spritz onto a rusty lock that needs picking.
Of course, it’ll come in handy right now. I take the comb, hair bands, and the detangling spray and approach Zohr. “How’s your back?” I ask him as I move to stand behind him.
It feels tight, it hurts, and it itches. When can I change to battle-form?
“Not for a while,” I tell him firmly, examining his wounds. The skin around the stitches is puffed up a bit and scabbed, but it looks better than it did. Still looks pretty raw though. “Sorry. I think you’re stuck being human with me for a bit.”
I am tired of being forced to be in my two-legged form. His thoughts are cranky.
I can’t help but smile. “Be thankful you’re alive enough to be tired of it. We’re lucky, you and I. I wasn’t entirely sure we’d make it out of Azar’s nest in one piece.”
I would not allow them to harm you.
There’s such confidence, such protectiveness in his thoughts that my throat feels as if it’s closing up. No, I guess he wouldn’t. Not if he’s willing to shred his wings and nearly destroy himself just to protect me. I soften toward him a bit more after that. “I’ve never had a chance to say thank you,” I murmur as I grab a handful of his thick hair and begin to spray detangler on it. “And I really should. Thank you, Zohr, for saving me.”
Do not thank me. You are my mate. Without you, I am nothing. You are the only one that anchors my mind and keeps me from falling back into madness. He reaches behind him and caresses my calf, as if needing to touch me. We are together.
“I guess we are,” I whisper. It’s still a foreign concept for me. I’ve been a loner for so long that it’s my default setting. I don’t know how to be a team. I give his hair a few more spritzes and then begin to gently work the comb through his locks.
Dragon hair isn’t quite like my hair. It’s very stiff, almost bristly, and it’s clear from the knotted tangles that he’s not brushed it in a long, long time—or maybe ever. I do my best not to pull, and patiently work through each snarl as best I can, because each section that I finish lies wavy and glossy and gleaming and so, so golden. I’m fascinated by it, and more than a little jealous.
I like your hair better, he tells me, and there’s a sleepy pleasure in his thoughts. It is very soft and smells like you.
“It’s thick and bushy,” I admit. “That’s about all I’ve got going for me. I inherited my daddy’s hair and not my mama’s. Hers was very silky and a light brown. Daddy was the Puerto Rican in the family. Mama was just white.”
Those are…different?
I chuckle. “Just a little. Not enough to make a fuss over. Daddy was darker than Mama. Spoke both Spanish and English. Mama joked that he was a lot smarter than her for being bilingual. We never picked up more than a few sayings, unfortunately. I wish we had.” I think of my parents wistfully, of my laughing, smiling father with his thick curls and my shy, quiet mother. “They died in the Rift.”
But your sibling, he lived?
I snort. “Unfortunately, yeah. At the time, I was just a kid, so I was grateful that I had Boyd. But after a while…well.” I shrug. “My daddy had a saying, that Boyd was como las tetas del toro. That means he was like tits on a bull.”
I…do not understand.
“Means he was useless,” I say, smiling at the thought. “He wasn’t wrong, either. Boyd was a big fan of the easy way out, even if it meant stepping over people.”