Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

“But yeah, they also wash the clothing of the dead. And, on occasion, of their queen.” She shrugged. “That’s a long story for another time, though.”

Goddess and banshee queen, thought Abel. This girl’s got quite the resumé.

And as he watched, the goddess and banshee queen untucked her shirt.

“Um, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Taking my clothes off.” She stopped with her top halfway over her head and turned to stare at him. “What? Did you think she was going to wash our clothes with us still in them?”

Abel opened his mouth, but it occurred to him then that he really hadn’t thought the whole thing through. He caught his gaze drifting down to the curves of her bra, and he did a quick about-face, rubbing his eyes with his hand. Bounce your eyes, came the voice of his father, and for once Abel listened.

Morrigan laughed, and the rustle of fabric told him that her shirt was completely off. “Oh my god. You’ve never seen a girl naked before, have you?”

Abel cleared his throat. “Now, when you say, ‘oh my god,’ which god are you talking about? Because I feel like there are a few different possibilities.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Morrigan’s shoes clattered empty on the tile floor. “You’ve never seen a woman without her clothes on?”

“It’s not that weird,” said Abel. “It’s not like I’ve had a lot of opportunities. The closest I’ve ever gotten is girls in t-shirts and one-piece bathing suits at youth group pool parties.”

“Ever seen a movie?”

Two soft objects—probably wadded-up socks—bounced off Abel’s back. He cleared his throat again. “The Reverend always fast-forwarded through those parts.”

“You and your rules again.” There was a soft whoosh and thump. He pictured Morrigan’s pants dropping, and it stole his breath away. Then her voice drew nearer. “When are you going to learn to loosen up?”

Right now, nothing in his body was loose, and it only grew harder with her breath on his ear and her body so electrically close. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself back under control. Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a man commits are outside his body, but the man who sins sexually sins against his own body…

Morrigan backed off. “Tell you what, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll keep my underwear on. Deal?”

“Thank you,” Abel said, although it came out as more of a squeak.

During the uncomfortable silence, Morrigan gathered up her clothes. Then she said, “I’m gonna need my socks too.”

Keeping his gaze off her, Abel kneeled and turned, picking up the balled socks. But he couldn’t blindly shove them in her direction—not without looking like an idiot, anyway. So he took his gaze off the floor and saw her.

He’d been somewhat braced for the body, the toned muscles, the way her underwear hugged her curves, the way her breath moved. . . everything.

He hadn’t been prepared for the scars.

Wicked, painful to look at, hatching her beautiful skin like a gruesome lattice. Some were straight and clean; others were jagged, as if from claws. Some were discolored, others were clearly from burns. They covered her stomach, ran down her legs, and crept out from under her bra. And while he only had a view of her front, Abel had no doubt that she had as many or more on her back.

And yet, despite the scars—or perhaps because of them—she was still beautiful. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Morrigan laughed, although Abel heard some nerves in that laughter. “You like what you see, don’t you?”

Abel raised his eyes to meet hers. “Yeah. I do.”

She smiled and inhaled, and her bravado was back. She shoved her clothes into the hands of the banshee, who placed each piece into the washing machines, separating lights from darks. Then Moira reached out an expectant and bony hand to Abel.

Abel glanced down at his bloody sweater. And shirt. And pants. Crap. I really didn’t think this through.

“It kinda defeats the purpose if you don’t let her wash your clothes too,” said Morrigan, her smile turning devilish again.

Abel swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure which disturbed him more, stripping down in front of Morrigan or under Moira’s dead gaze. Not that the banshee would care—he hoped—but he hadn’t liked the way that creature had looked at him since he walked in here. Like she saw too much. He wasn’t eager to show her more.

He also wasn’t eager to go around looking like an axe murderer.

Abel stuck his hands in his pockets, and his fingers closed around the Freedom List. Go shirtless in public. That was the last item he’d written. He hadn’t wanted to go pants-less too, but at least this was less public than what he’d envisioned. And he had to admit there was a small part of him that really wanted to know what Morrigan thought of his body, as terrified and slightly nauseous as that thought made him.

He emptied his pockets and dumped the contents onto a nearby seat. He took off his shoes and socks, then his cardigan, and finally, with a determined lack of eye contact, his shirt and jeans. The banshee took them all and got busy sorting them, while Abel stood there, flushed with heat and embarrassment and wrapping his arms around himself as Morrigan’s gaze made him feel even more exposed.

“Stop it,” he muttered.

“Nope,” she replied.

He sighed. Not that he could complain; he’d stared at her too. And besides, that much interest meant he’d passed inspection, right? He felt a little pride at that.

The banshee reached out again, and Abel’s eyes widened in horror as he crossed his hands over his boxers. “I’m keeping these on, thanks.”

Moira shook her head and rubbed her fingers together.

“She wants coins,” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. “For the washing machines.”

“Oh, right,” said Abel, fumbling through his belongings for his wallet before he realized he hadn’t carried coins in years. He held up a neatly folded dollar bill. “Can you make change?” he asked the banshee.

Morrigan stepped between them. “He’s with me, Moira. You