Malin froze.
The fabric of the second tent hung limply in his hands, forgotten. His mind stalled, replaying Rhaegal's words to make sure he'd heard them right.
You'll be staying in mine.
He turned slowly to look at the vampire lord, eyes wide with surprise. "I… I thought I'd be sharing a tent with Eugene," he said, trying to keep his voice even, but it came out too soft—like a question rather than a protest.
Rhaegal's expression didn't waver. "You don't," he replied simply, as though the matter required no further discussion. Actually he didn't trust other vampires around Malin Or perhaps he just couldn't stand the thought of Malin staying close to another.
Just then, Eugene returned, a bedroll slung over one shoulder, his arms filled with supplies. He stopped short when he saw only one tent erected.
He blinked. "Where's the second—?"
"Pitch your own tent." Rhaegal told him.
Eugene raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The message was clear. And it wasn't open to discussion.
