by J. R. Ward
Xhex woke up with a gasp. She had no idea how long she’d been out. Or where John—
Well, that one was answered: John was on the floor across from her bed, lying on his side, his head resting on the inside of the arm he’d curled up into a pillow. He looked tired even as he slept, his brows tight, his mouth in a weary grimace.
The comfort she took in seeing him was a stunner, but she didn’t fight it. Not enough energy—and besides, no witnesses.
“John?”
The instant she said his name, he was up off the linoleum, in a fighting stance, with his warrior’s body between her and the door to the hall. Pretty clear he was prepared to shred anything that threatened her.
Which was . . . really sweet.
And better than a bedside bouquet that would have left her sneezing.
“John . . . come here.”
He waited a moment, cocking his head as if listening for sounds. Then he dropped his fists and walked over. The instant his eyes swung toward her, his brutal glare and his bared fangs faded into a gut-wrenching compassion.
He went right for his pad, wrote something, and flashed it.
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry yet.” Which had always been true for her. After a feeding, she didn’t eat for hours, sometimes a full day. “What I would love . . .”
Her eyes shifted to the bathroom in the corner.
Shower, he wrote, and showed her.
“Yeah. Jesus . . . I would love some hot water.”
He was all about the nursey-nursey, going in to start the spray, setting out towels and soap and a toothbrush on the counter.
Feeling like a piker, she went to sit up . . . and it became clear someone had tied a house around her chest; it literally felt like she was lifting a two-story colonial up with her shoulders. What got her legs swinging off the side of the mattress was a lot of effort—and the conviction that if she couldn’t at least get partially vertical on her own, he was going to call the doc and she was going to lose her shower.
John came in just as her bare soles hit the floor and he was Johnny-on-the-spot with the steadying arm as she stood up. When the sheets fell away from her, they both had a moment of . . . Holy shit—naked. But this was hardly a time for modesty.
“What should I do about the dressing?” she murmured, looking down at the white bandage that stretched across her pelvis.
When John glanced over at his pad, as if he were trying to decide whether he could reach it while still holding her up, she said, “No, I don’t want Doc Jane. I’m just going to take it off.”
She picked a corner free and as she weaved on her feet, she figured it probably would have been better to do this lying down—and under medical supervision. But fuck it.
“Oh . . .” she breathed as she slowly revealed the line of black stitches. “Damn . . . V’s female is good with a needle and thread, huh.”
John took the bloodstained gauze pack and nothing-but-netted it into the trash can in the corner. And then he just waited, as if he was very aware she was thinking about getting back on the bed.
For some reason, the idea she’d been cut open made her light-headed.
“Let’s do this,” she said gruffly.
He let her set the pace, which turned out to be only slightly quicker than reverse.
“Can you turn the lights off in there?” she said as they shuffled along, her baby steps measuring at the most three inches. “I don’t want to see what I look like in that mirror over the sink.”
The instant he was in range, his arm snaked out and he clicked the switch on the wall.
“Thanks.”
The feel of the humid air and the sound of the falling water eased her mind and her spine. Trouble was, the tension had helped keep her up and now she was sagging.
“John . . .” Was that her voice? So weak and thin. “John, will you get in with me. Please.”
Talk about your long silences. But then in the light that streamed in from over at the bed, he nodded.
“While you undress out there,” she said, “you can shut the door and I’ll use the loo.”
With that, she gripped the bar that was bolted into the wall and maneuvered herself over. There was another pause, and then John stepped back and the light source was dimmed.
After she took care of business, she dragged herself up and cracked the door.
What she got was that pad in her face: I would have left my boxers on but I don’t wear them under my leathers.
“That’s okay. I’m hardly the shy kind.”
Although that proved to be not entirely accurate as the two of them got into the stall shower together. You’d think after all she’d been through that a little skin, in a darkened room, with a male she trusted and had already been with, wouldn’t have been a big deal. It was, though.
Especially as his body brushed against the back of her as he shut the glass door.
Concentrate on the water, she told herself, wondering if she’d lost her damn mind.
As she tilted her head up, she started to list to the side and his big hand slipped under her arm to hold her vertical.
“Thank you,” she said roughly.
Awkward as the situation was, the hot water felt great as it bled into her hair down to her scalp, and the idea that she could clean herself off was suddenly more of a priority than everything John Matthew wasn’t wearing.
“I forgot the soap, damn it.”
John pulled another lean and lunge, his hips pushing into hers. And although she tensed up, bracing herself for something sexual . . . he wasn’t aroused.
Which was a relief. After the stuff Lash had done to her—
As the soap was pressed into her palm, she locked down all thoughts of what had happened in that bedroom and just wet the bar under the spray. Wash herself. Dry off. Back to bed. That’s all she had to think about.
The strong, distinct smell of Dial wafted up and she had to blink fast.
It was exactly what she would have chosen herself.
Amazing, John thought as he stood behind Xhex.
If you looked down at your cock and balls and told them that if they behaved badly you would slice them up and bury them in the backyard, they actually listened to you.
He was going to have to remember this.
The shower stall was a generous size for a male, but it was close quarters with the two of them and he had to keep his ass pressed against the cool tile to make one hundred percent sure that Mr. Bright Idea and his twin sidekicks, Dumber and Dumberer, stayed away from her.
After all, the pep talk had done wonders, but he wasn’t going to push it.
Besides, he remained shocked that Xhex was so weak he needed to hold her upright—even after feeding. Then again, you didn’t just shake off four weeks of hell after a two-hour nap. Which was how long she’d been asleep, according to his watch.
As she hit the shampoo, she arched her back, her wet hair brushing against his chest before she turned around to rinse the suds. He switched his grip as necessary, holding first her right upper arm, then her left, then again her right.
Trouble hit when she bent over to wash her legs.
“Shit—” Her balance shifted so fast, his grip popped off her slick, soapy biceps and she fell right against his body.
He had a brief, vivid impression of slippery, wet, and warm and then he slammed himself back against the wall and scrambled for a less full-contact way of keeping her upright.
“I wish there was a seat here,” she said. “I can’t seem to keep my damn balance.”
There was a pause . . . and then he took the soap from her. Moving slowly, he traded places with her, easing her into the corner he’d parked his ass in, and putting her palms on his shoulders.
As he knelt down, he turned the Dial bar in his hands, working up a good froth while the water pounded on the back of his head and rivered down his spine. The tile was hard under his kneecaps and one set of his toes pressed into the drain as if the thing had teeth and was taking
a nibble, but he didn’t care.
He was about to touch her. And that was all that mattered.
Wrapping his hand around her ankle, he gave her a gentle tug, and after a moment, she eased her weight to the opposite side and gave him her foot. He put the bar of soap down next to the door and smoothed over her sole and up onto her heel, massaging, cleaning . . .
Worshiping without expecting anything in return.
He went slowly, especially as he headed up onto her leg, pausing every now and again to make sure he didn’t push on any of the bruises. Her calf muscle was rock-hard, and the bones that went up into her knee seemed strong as a male’s, but she was dainty in her own way. At least compared to him.
As he went even higher, up onto her thigh, he gravitated to the outside. The last thing he wanted her to worry about was him coming on to her, and when he got to her hip, he stopped and picked up the soap again.
After rinsing the bottom of her foot off, he tapped her other ankle, and felt a spear of relief as she obligingly gave him a chance to repeat what he’d done.
Slow massages, slow hands, slow progress . . . and only on the outside up toward the top.
When he was finished, he stood, his knees cracking as he lifted to his full height and maneuvered her under the spray. Holding on to her arm again, he gave her the soap so she could wash whatever else there was to be done.
“John?” she said.
As it was dark, he whistled a What?
“You are such a male of worth, you know that. You really are.”
She reached up and cupped his face.
It happened so fast, he couldn’t believe it. Later, he would play and replay everything over and over again, stretching out the moment endlessly, reliving it and taking a strange kind of nourishment from the memory, again and again.
When it actually went down, though, it was just an instant. An impulse on her part. A chaste gift given in gratitude for a chaste gift received.
Xhex flexed up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his.
Oh, so soft. Her lips were incredibly soft. And gentle. And very warm.
The contact was far too fleeting, but then again, he was ready to go for hours and hours and call that almost long enough.
“Come lie with me,” she said, opening the door to the shower and stepping out. “I don’t like you on the floor. You deserve much better than that.”
Dimly, he shut off the water and followed her, accepting the towel she handed him. They dried off together, her wrapping her whole torso up, him covering his hips.
Outside, he got up on the hospital bed first and it felt like the most natural thing in the world for him to open his arms wide. If he’d thought about it, he wouldn’t have made the gesture, but he wasn’t thinking.
Which was okay.
Because she came to him as the spraying water in the shower had, drenching him in a warmth that leached through his skin and into his marrow.
But of course, Xhex went even farther through him than that. She always had.
Seemed like he’d lost his soul to her the very first time he’d laid eyes on her.
As he clicked off the light and she settled even closer to him, it felt like she was burrowing right into his cold heart and setting up shop, her banked fire thawing his soul out until he took the first honest-to-God deep breath in months.
John closed his eyes, not expecting to sleep.
He did, though. And very, very well.
THIRTY
In the staff room of Sampsone’s mansion, Darius concluded his meeting with the daughter’s maid.
“Thank you,” he said as he rose to his feet and nodded at the female. “I appreciate your candor.”
The doggen bowed low. “Please find her. And bring her home, sire.”
“We shall endeavor to do just that.” He glanced at Tohrment. “Would you be so kind as to show in the steward?”
Tohrment opened the door for the tiny female and the pair left together.
In their absence, Darius stalked around the bare floor, his leather boots making a circle about the ledger desk in the center of the room. The maid knew naught of relevance. She had been utterly open and unassuming—and added absolutely nothing to the puzzle.
Tohrment came back with the steward, and resumed his stance right beside the door, staying quiet. Which was good. Generally speaking during interrogation of the civil variety, you didn’t need more than one inquisitor. The boy had another utility, however. His shrewd eyes missed nothing, so perhaps there was something he would pick up on that Darius missed during the discourses.
“Thank you for speaking with us,” Darius said to the steward.
The doggen bowed low. “It shall be my pleasure to be of service to you, sire.”
“Indeed,” Darius murmured as he sat down on the hard stool he had used when speaking with the maid. Doggen by nature tended to value protocol and therefore they would prefer those of higher station to be seated in this situation while they stood. “Whatever are you called, steward.”
Another low bow. “I am Fritzgelder Perlmutter.”
“And how long have you been with the family.”
“I was born unto them seventy-seven years ago.” The steward linked his hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders. “I have serviced the family with pride since my fifth anniversary of birth.”
“Long history. So you know the daughter well.”
“Yes. She is a female of worth. A joy to her birthed parents and her bloodline.”
Darius watched the steward’s face carefully. “And you were not aware of anything . . . that would lead one to expect such a disappearance.”
The servant’s left eyebrow twitched once.
And there was a long silence.
Darius lowered his voice to a whisper. “If it eases your conscience, you have my word as a Brother that neither myself nor my colleague shall reveal what you say to anyone. Even the king himself.”
Fritzgelder opened his mouth and breathed through it.
Darius remained in silence: Pushing the poor male would only slow the process of revelation down. Indeed, he was either going to talk or not, and encouraging him would but delay his decision.
The steward reached into the interior pocket of his uniform and withdrew a bright white handkerchief that was pressed into a precise square. Blotting at his upper lip, he fumbled to put the thing away.
“Nothing shall breach these walls,” Darius whispered. “Not a thing.”
The steward had to clear his throat twice before his thready voice materialized. “Verily . . . she was above reproach. That I am certain of. There was no . . . consort with a male about which her parents were unaware.”
“But . . .” Darius murmured.
At that moment the door swung wide and the butler who had let them into the mansion appeared. He seemed totally unsurprised by the meeting and utterly disapproving of it. No doubt one of his underlings had tipped him off.
“You run such a fine lot of staff,” Darius said to the male. “My colleague and I are very impressed.”
The low bow did nothing to ease the male’s expression of distrust. “I am complimented, sire.”
“We were just leaving. Is your master about?”
The butler straightened and his relief was obvious. “He has retired and that is why I came to see you. He has bidden you well adieu, but must needs look after his beloved shellan.”
Darius got to his feet. “Your steward here was about to show us the grounds on our way out. As it is raining, I am certain you should prefer one of your staff to guide us o’er the wet grass. We shall return here after the sunset. Thank you for your accommodation of our requests.”
There was no other response save for the one the male gave: “But of course.”
Fritzgelder bowed to his superior and then extended his arm toward a door in the far corner. “This way.”
Outside, the air carried little of spring’s promise of warmth. Indeed, it was winter-cold
as they trudged through the mist.
Fritzgelder knew exactly where to take them, the steward walking with purpose around the back of the mansion to the part of the gardens that were overlooked by the female’s bedroom.
Did not this work out well, Darius thought.
The steward stopped right under Sampsone’s daughter’s window, but he didn’t face the stout stone walls of the house. He looked outward . . . across the flower beds and the hedge maze . . . to the estate next door. And then he deliberately turned to face Darius and Tohrment.
“Lift thine eyes unto the trees,” he said while pointing at the house as if describing something pertinent—because undoubtedly they were being watched from the leaded windows of the manse. “Regard well the clearing.”
Indeed, there was a break in the crowd of barren tree limbs—which was how they’d seen the far-off mansion from the second floor.
“That vista was not created by our household, sire,” the doggen said softly. “And I noticed it about a week before . . . she was found gone. I was upstairs cleaning the rooms. The family of the household had retired underground as it was lighted day. I heard the sounds of cracking wood and rendered my eyes unto the windows, whereupon I saw the branches being taken down.”
Darius narrowed his stare. “Very deliberate, the cutting, isn’t it.”
“Very deliberate. And I thought nothing as it is naught but humans who reside therein. But now . . .”
“Now you wonder if there was a purpose other than landscaping. Tell me, to whom did you mention this.”
“The butler. But he beseeched me to remain mum. He is a fine male, of good service to the family. He wants nothing more than to have her found . . .”
“But he wishes to avoid any conception that she might have fallen into human hands.”
After all, they were just a tail away from being considered upright rats by the glymera.
“Thank you for this,” Darius said. “You have done well your duty.”
“Just find her. Please. I care not the source of the abduction—just bring her home.”
