"Right," I murmur, head ducking, eyes on the fire. On the dog. On my feet. Suddenly anywhere but his face. "'s 'cause he trusts you." The tight, unexpected knot of guilt settles behind my ribs, making it hard to swallow, and in the end Max probably gets more of my food than I do. Before, all I'd thought about is what Eostre'd have done to me. Now, that seems secondary, 'cause that kind of easy, absolute forgiveness Tom seems to dole out so readily is something completely foreign to me.

He doesn't seem to feel weird, not at all, I'm not real sure I deserve it.