I always loved that blissful moment just after waking. That split second of sheer ignorance of all of life’s problems.

Then everything lands behind your eyes and reminds you of yesterday’s problems.

I stirred and sat myself up, groggy and grumpy from splintered hours of sleep. As I got to my feet, every bone in my body stirred like an orchestra beginning to play, each note a pulsing ache reminding me of my poor choice of bed for the night.

The mirror on the opposite side of the bed caught my attention, and its cheap wooden frame whispered a memory of the unsettling silhouette I had seen in there the previous night. But now, there was nothing in the mirror except my tired-ass looking for sleep paralysis demons…

In fact, there was no one else in the room at all.

My heart dropped, though I couldn’t say I was surprised. Of course Magnus had left. Why would he have stuck around? He knew now that I wouldn’t post the photo—I’d had plenty of opportunities to do so. Still, some silly part of me had hoped we would be better acquainted, that I could cling one rung higher on the fangirl ladder and stake claim to the envious status of being known by Magnus Claymore himself.

At least he made the bed, I thought to myself wretchedly, absently lifting the corner of the quilt to find the dark reddish-brown patch of blood that had crusted on the bedsheet underneath. Left me with that to explain to housekeeping though. Thanks, dickhead. What am I supposed to do with that?!

That Magnus trusted me enough to leave without seeing the photo deleted was a nice salve to the disappointment of him going, though. I allowed myself a small smile, reaching to my back pocket…then proceeded to perform the where the hell is my phone? dance, bouncing up to the balls of my feet and patting every pocket, whipping around to search the room and—

Another detail of the previous night returned to my sleep-deprived brain. I had given my phone to Magnus as collateral to get him to believe I wouldn’t post the photo while he rested, so he would settle down to sleep and heal up a bit instead of limping out into the night.

He hadn’t skipped out on nothing but some flattering sense of trust.

He’d nicked my fucking phone.

“Son of a fucking—” I snarled under my breath, stomping over to the door with the ridiculous notion of chasing after the rock star despite having no idea when he had left or where he had gone. I grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, coming within one stamping step of headbutting someone straight in the chest.

I reeled back and gasped, looking up to see Magnus’ bemused face. He had a white plastic bag in one hand and was holding up his free hand in mock-surrender.

“Woah!” he laughed, cocking an eyebrow up at me. “Someone isn’t a morning person, huh?”

My mouth opened and closed helplessly, and I was unable to decide if I was angry or elated that he hadn’t run off. I settled on being annoyed at the audacity of this man. Here he was, after a questionable post-gig meal, a few hours’ sleep, and a minor stabbing, and he still looked more put-together than I did after a good night’s rest. His blond hair was smoothed back, and despite having slept in his jeans and leather jacket his outfit looked deliberately rugged and dishevelled.

“You…changed your shirt,” I blurted out, noting the white shirt had been swapped for a black one.

Magnus’ lips pressed together in an amused grin, his eyebrows raised.

“I did,” he confirmed with a chuckle. “The other one got a bit ripped so”—he lifted the white plastic bag in his hand—“I went shopping. Can I come back in now?”

I stepped back into the room, muted by the tornado of emotions demanding to be addressed. Magnus was still here. He still had my phone.

I still didn’t know what he was.

Magnus brushed by me as he came back into the room, wafting a scent of patchouli and oak that did little to help me untangle my thoughts. I ended up hovering awkwardly by the door as it clicked shut behind him, unsure as to whether I should offer to help as he set about pulling the pillows and quilt from the bed.

“Do you still have my phone?” I asked if only to break the silence. Magnus patted his back pocket in wordless answer, and I thanked my lucky stars he was too busy with peeling the bedsheet off the mattress to notice my rapidly reddening face.

The blood had seeped through the sheet, staining the mattress beneath with yet another problem for us to solve. But it didn’t seem to phase Magnus. He rifled in the plastic bag he had brought with him, producing a bottle of something I couldn’t make out. After a few moments, a scalding smell singed my nostrils and I flinched back.

“Jesus—is that bleach?”

“Yup.” Magnus set the bottle down on the bedside table then heading over to the window to open it. “Probably need to leave it for a bit.”

He turned to me then, that perpetual feline-smile lighting up his face, and he shoved his hands into his back pockets. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” I repeated back to him, nodding at the bleach-soaked circle discolouring the mattress. “You think housekeeping won’t have words about that?”

Magnus shrugged.

“Leave the card on the door to say no housekeeping. It’ll be fine. Unless you want to sit around in a room full of bleach fumes?”

***