Her words, not mine. My home was closer than Blackgoat, so we made our way there, both pretending we didn’t notice we were being tailed by two nephilim from Roman and Casper’s crew. Back home, Cloete announced she’d crash at my place for the night and since she’d saved me back at Saint Pendergrast, I was grateful enough to offer a bath and my bed. Ushering her upstairs, I drew the warm water, sprinkling it with scented oils. Orella might have had all the charm and grace of a warthog, but she had remembered to drill some basic manners into me as I grew up. Giving Cloete a fresh towel and some spare clothes, I went to leave. ‘Stay a minute,’ Cloete said as she began to strip. I turned to give her some privacy, limping over to the bathroom stool to sit down. Splashing noises came from behind me. ‘You can turn around,’ Cloete said. ‘Not like you haven’t seen a pair of tits before.’ ‘Isn’t the question more: do I want to see your tits?’ I said, but turned anyway.
