Ivy's POV
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the ceiling of my grandmother's living room. The second was Damien Ashworth, sitting on the coffee table, wearing nothing but a crocheted afghan in a violent shade of orange.
I shut my eyes again.
"Still fainted?" I asked the dark behind my eyelids. "Is this a faint-within-a-faint situation?"
"You're awake," Damien said, in the tone of a man who had been hoping for a longer break. "I'd say that's the bad news."
"Why are you wearing my grandmother's blanket?"
A long, dignified pause.
"Shifting," he said, "is hard on clothes."
I opened one eye. He was looking at the far wall with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb, and the tips of his ears had gone distinctly pink. For a man who could apparently turn into a horse-sized w
