“Yeah, but the past few days we haven’t seen you before one,” Hope pointed out. “Are you feeling better?”
Hugh stopped in the middle of reaching for a cupboard. Hope’s heart sank as the by-now familiar blank look crept across his face, his mouth going slack.
A soft growl escaped Betty’s mouth. The hellhound’s eyes were fixed on the motionless Hugh, her lips wrinkling back to expose her teeth.
“Stop it, Betty!” Hope hissed. Then, louder but more gently: “Hugh? Hello?”
He started, his outstretched hand dropping back to his side. “Sorry. Just…listening. Yes, I’m feeling better.” A hint of the lost look crept into his pale eyes. “I think.”
“Well, that’s good!” Hope said brightly. Under the table, she poked Betty. “Isn’t that good, Betty?”
The hellhound finally managed to choke off her growling, though she was still physically drawn back in her chair as if Hugh was a particularly large spider. “Yeah. Great. Uh, listen, I just remembered, I have a…thing.”
Hope narrowed her eyes at her. “No, you don’t.”
Hugh let out a soft huff of sardonic laughter. “It’s fine, Hope. Let Betty go and do her…thing.”
The hellhound didn’t need to be invited twice. With an apologetic glance at Hope, she grabbed her bag and made a dash for the door.
“Rude,” Hope muttered. She started stacking up the discarded homework. “I’m so sorry, Hugh. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
“That’s because you aren’t a shifter,” he said, rather dryly. He opened a cupboard. “Speaking of which, where’s Ivy?”
“She, uh, had to go out.”
“Oh.” Hugh closed the cupboard again without taking anything out, and moved on to the next one. “Is that ‘had to go out’ as in the same way that Betty had to go do ‘a thing’?”
“Um.” Hope wasn’t sure whether to be glad or dismayed by this unexpected flash of his previous sarcasm. “Yes.”
His mouth twisted a little. “Thought so.”
Hope bit her lip, watching him for a few minutes. He kept opening cupboards and drawers, staring at the contents blankly, and then closing them...only to reopen them again a moment later.
“Hugh?” she ventured, about the third time he randomly inspected his plates. “What are you looking for?”
He stilled. “I’m…not sure. Nothing, actually.”
Nonetheless, he took out a glass, and poured himself some water. Drink in hand, he leaned back against the kitchen counter, shooting her a slight, strained smile.
“I’m a mess, aren’t I?” he said. “No wonder Ivy’s avoiding me.”
Reversing out from behind the table, Hope wheeled herself closer to him. “Things aren’t okay with you guys, are they.”
He shook his head, looking weary. “Things are about as far from okay as it is possible to be. Whatever she talked to Ash about—and I have a horrible suspicion that I know what it was—it clearly didn’t go the way that she wanted. And now she doesn’t even want to be in the same room as me.”
“What did she talk to Ash about?” Hope asked.
He took a long drink of his water before answering. “I think she asked him to burn out her wyvern.”
“What, again?” Hope frowned, puzzled. “Why?”
Hugh made a sweeping hand gesture at himself. “Because of me. So that we can touch.”
Hope shook her head, still not getting it. “Why would she need to lose her wyvern for that? You’re her true mate.”
Hugh stared at her. She stared back, in a moment of mutual confusion.
“I think,” Hugh said at last, putting down his glass, “that you’d better explain why you think that’s relevant.”