Ganriel

by D. B. Reynolds

  The bathroom door opened sooner than she’d expected. After the rough day they’d had, she’d lingered under the hot water as long as she dared. Gabriel, apparently, had different priorities. No long, luxurious showers for him.

  “I laid some clean clothes on the bed,” she called out. “They should fit you better than the other ones.”

  He didn’t say anything, but she heard his footsteps going into the bedroom. A few minutes later, he came out to the kitchen, making the already small room seem tiny. He was such a big man. And so beautiful, with the dark scruff of his two-day beard emphasizing the surprisingly clean line of his jaw, the sharp edge of his cheekbones. But he seemed so sad. She had to fight the urge to hug him, to ask what was wrong and how she could fix it. But something about his posture told her he wouldn’t welcome her touch, so she only looked up and met his eyes with a smile.

  “Dinner’s just about ready. You must be starving. I know I am.” She added that last so he wouldn’t think she was singling him out in any way. “Sit,” she said, pointing toward the table with her metal spatula. Giving the meat and peppers a quick stir, she opened the rice cooker and upended the rice into a bowl, then placed it on the table, which already held soy sauce and chili oil, along with salt and pepper—the last two a holdover from her years in the U.S. Turning back to the wok, she divided the stir fry between two wide, shallow bowls, giving Gabriel the larger portion, then brought the plates to the table.

  “Dig in,” she said, taking the lead as she scooped a big spoonful of rice and plopped it in her bowl, then shoved the rice dish toward Gabriel.

  He followed her example silently but grunted in appreciation when he tasted the stir fry.

  “This is good. Thank you,” he said. She couldn’t help noticing that he handled his chopsticks like a pro. It made her wonder if they’d used chopsticks back where he’d come from. It didn’t seem likely, given his European features, but who knew what things were like back then. According to her grandfather, Gabriel’s origins were very possibly out of the current flow of time, which could mean anything. A parallel universe? Had he left someone behind? A woman, a wife, even? A family? All she knew was that he’d ended up here and now, and he was hers. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

  “I used one of the burner phones here at the house, while you showered. I spoke to my grandfather’s man. He’ll take care of the car. It’s probably already been picked up, and there won’t be anything left when they’re through with it.” She took a bite and chewed. “I told him our suspicions regarding the possibility of a traitor among the staff. He agrees and will pursue that angle, too.” More food, more chewing. She drank some water. “Would you rather have wine? I have white or red, or sake, if you prefer?”

  He studied her intently as if she’d suddenly slipped into a different language. Then said, “No, thank you. The water is good.”

  She wanted to grab his huge shoulders and shake him until he told her what was wrong, why he’d suddenly gone so distant and so damn polite. She settled for grinding her teeth. Although if he kept this up much longer, she wasn’t going to have any teeth left to grind. She smiled instead and said, “Grandfather’s man said our new IDs will take another forty-eight hours. That’s longer than I’d like, but it’s understandable. There’s a lot of attention on the family right now, what with the attack on the estate, and that ridiculous street fight in bloody damn daylight. What were they thinking?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. “Whoever it was didn’t do themselves any favors. They didn’t get what they were after, and they’ve probably made a few new enemies. Every­one will be feeling the heat for the near future. Stupid,” she said, shaking her head, then continued. “Anyway, that means you and I will be here for the next few days. I’ll go out tomorrow and buy fresh groceries—”

  His head came up. “Not alone, you—”

  “Alone,” she said firmly. “I can disguise myself to look like an ordinary shufu going about her day. You, on the other hand, cannot. I’ll also pick up clothes for both of us. I make a very good housewife.”

  “I understand,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

  Hana scowled. She didn’t think he understood at all, but she wasn’t going to get into it with him tonight. Not with them both worn out, and her, at least, short-tempered because of it. It would be too easy to say things they didn’t mean. She poured him some more water instead.

  The rest of the meal passed in silence. And not the comfortable kind. When everything had been consumed down to the last slice of pepper, the last grain of rice, she stood to gather the dishes.

  “I’ll do that,” he said quietly. “You rest.”

  She froze mid-motion, shifting just her eyes to study him. “I don’t mind, it’s—”

  He looked up then with eyes so bleak, she had to fight the urge to cry out. “You cooked. You arranged everything with Himura-san’s man. I can do this.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, forcing her to look away so he wouldn’t see. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you.” She made it to the bedroom before the first tears spilled over. Covering her face with a pillow so he wouldn’t hear, her emotions poured out until she felt as empty and desolate as his eyes. She had to make him talk. But how?

  She slipped off her robe and crawled under the blankets, wearing short shorts and a T-shirt, which was her usual sleepwear. Her gaze wandered aimlessly around the small room, but eventually circled back to the bed. She grinned. There was only one bed. It was going to be much harder for him to ignore her when they were sharing a bed. He might be pulling back into his shell, but physically, he wasn’t any more immune to her than she was to him. That scene in the bathroom had told her that much. Tugging her shirt down to cover her bare belly, she snuggled into the pillow and waited.

  GABRIEL MOVED AS quietly as he could—which was damn quiet— as he washed the few dishes they’d used for dinner. He was more careful with the wok. Himura-san had enjoyed cooking and had explained the lengthy process involved in properly “seasoning” and cleaning a wok. He dried everything, but left them on the counter, not wanting to pry into Hana’s cupboards. He could hear her soft breathing in the bedroom, the occasional rustle of cloth as she moved. He’d glimpsed the tiny shorts she’d worn under her robe, the long length of her bare legs. His cock grew hard, thinking about all that smooth, golden skin sliding over the soft sheets. Turning out the lights, he settled on the sofa and tried to control his body. The sofa was too small for him to stretch out, but he wasn’t planning on sleeping. He leaned back and simply existed in the moment, legs crossed at the ankle in front of him, eyes closed. From the first crack of his stone prison until now, they’d been running, hiding, killing, or trying to avoid being killed. This was the first truly quiet mo­ment he’d had. Hana seemed confident that no one knew about this place. Though she’d been sure about the condo, too, and that hadn’t worked out. But now she believed she’d figured out how their enemies had found them, and he trusted her judgment. And if she was wrong? Then he’d fight again. There were plenty of knives in her kitchen, all of them well-sharpened. He’d checked.

  He sat that way for an hour or more, eyes closed, but his ears alert for any sound. All remained quiet. Standing on silent feet, he crossed to the bedroom to check on Hana. There was no active threat, but something inside him needed to see her. He didn’t enter the room but stood in the doorway. She was sound asleep, lying on one side of the bed, leaving the other empty with a pillow waiting. For him? Had she really expected him to sleep in the same bed with her? Did she think he was made of steel? Or maybe he was a curiosity that she wanted to explore. Let’s fuck the ancient warrior and see how they did things way back then. But no. Hana wasn’t like that. She was a warrior in her own right, with a warrior’s honor.

  He took in her graceful form as she lay there, her long, loose hair falling like silk over one side, her lovely face relaxed in sleep. And then he returned to the
living room, stretched out on the floor, and fell instantly asleep.

  HANA WOKE ALL AT once, and then she lay there figuring out where she was. She recognized her house, and the previous day’s events came rushing back. Her hand stretched out and found the bed empty next to her. A quick look told her the pillow hadn’t been used. So where was Gabriel? Swinging her legs over the side, she didn’t bother donning a robe to cover her shorts and T-shirt. They were just legs for fuck’s sake. She did take a moment for caution, remaining still and listening. She knew the sounds of the neighborhood, the ebbs and flows of people going to work and school, to the shops. Finding nothing amiss, she tiptoed out to the living room.

  “What the fuckity fuck?” she cursed silently. Why, when there’d been a perfectly good bed in the next room, was Gabriel sleeping on the floor without even a pillow to add some comfort? She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. She didn’t need to ask that question. She already knew the answer. He hadn’t wanted to share a bed with her. Not because he didn’t want her, but because he did. And even though she’d have welcomed him with literally open arms, she suspected that he’d gotten it into his head, after the street fight with those thugs who’d tried to grab her, that she deserved someone who didn’t drink his enemy’s blood. Or anyone else’s. Did he really think she was that shallow or ignorant? That she’d worry about fangs? If anything, she’d rather missed them after his curse had been lifted.

  She had to make him see himself the way she did. She didn’t see a godless vampire. She saw a warrior who’d spent most of his life fighting against evil, who’d shed his own blood in battle after battle. And then, when the war was nearly won, with evil vanquished and its champion on the verge of deadly defeat, Gabriel had been ripped out of everything he knew and trapped in the dark for thousands of years. And then, when the curse had finally been lifted, when he’d been freed at last, he hadn’t hesitated to take up arms one more time in her defense. This wasn’t his battle, it was hers. But he’d made it his, because once again, honor and duty demanded it. And he was, above all, an honorable man. One who, by no choice of his own, was also a vampire.

  What was not to admire about a man like that? Add in his physical beauty and his intensely masculine appeal, and he was hard to resist. She could imagine eggs perking up in the body of every woman he passed, squeaking, “I want to have babies with that one!”

  She thought about that a moment. Did eggs squeak? Stupid ques­tion. They didn’t make any noise at all, but she was thinking meta­phorically.

  She was saved from drowning in grammar rules by the soft ping of her burner phone in the bedroom. Hurrying back, she found a text message from her grandfather’s contact. The new IDs she’d requested would be ready early the next morning, before banks and most businesses opened. That was good. She could pick up the new IDs, visit her bank safe deposit box for the cash and credit cards she had stashed there, and then make their flight arrangements. The question was . . . where to go? She had university friends in the U.S., but she didn’t want to involve any of them in this mess. Grandfather’s business empire included interests there, too, and as his granddaughter, she could walk into any of his offices and command attention. But those were all too obvious. She hardly needed to do their enemy’s work for them by shining a spotlight over her head.

  Western Europe might work. She had apartments in more than one European city. She was considering her options when Gabriel groaned. She walked back to the living room in time to see him sit up and rest his back against the sofa. His back was probably aching.

  “There was no need for you to sleep on the floor. The bed was more than big enough for both of us.”

  “That wouldn’t be proper.”

  “We shared a bedroom at the condo.”

  “But not a bed.”

  Hana blew out a frustrated breath. “You’re perfectly safe from me, you know. I don’t go around molesting men. Not even the beautiful ones.” She stared in amusement when he blushed. She’d made an ancient warrior blush. Was it the compliment, she wondered, or the idea of her molesting him? She’d have loved to know which one. He’d used that word “älskling” before, and said it indicated affection. Affection? What the hell? That could mean anything. She hated the idea that their attraction might be one-sided, that she was acting like a silly school girl who’d fallen in love with a warrior who’d probably bedded more women than she’d met in her entire life. But she didn’t believe it was one-sided, damn it.

  She stared at his bent head, waiting for him to say something. She was just about ready to throw something at him when she went down on her knees next to him instead. “Are you okay?” She rested a hand on his forehead, slid it down to his cheek. He was pale, but his skin felt heated— the very opposite of what she’d expect to find. “Squeeze my fingers,” she ordered, picking up his much larger hand.

  He gave her a look that questioned her sanity, and then squeezed . . . carefully. She could tell he wasn’t even trying to use his full strength.

  “Come on, you can do better than that. I won’t break.”

  He met her eyes. “But you will. I’m much stronger than you.”

  “Fine, just squeeze until I beg you to stop.”

  His lips flattened into a stubborn look. “I could hurt you without trying. What are you trying to achieve?”

  “You don’t look well. I’d ask if there’s something you usually eat, but it’s been so long that whatever you used to eat probably doesn’t exist anymore. Or maybe it never did in this universe.”

  He gave her a blank look that said either he didn’t know what the hell she was going on about, or he did know and he wasn’t going to talk about it. Frustrating man.

  “Fine,” she said, loosening her fingers from his hand. “I’m going out.”

  “Where?”

  She felt like giving him back his blank stare but relented. “We need food and better clothes. There’s a decent grocer’s nearby, and a sur­prisingly good second-hand clothing shop.”

  He stood and held out a hand to pull her to her feet. She thought it might be the first time he’d touched her voluntarily since they’d fought their way out of the condo.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said.

  “No, no.” She shook her head emphatically. “We’ve had this dis­cussion. It’s the same as at the bath house. You’re too big and too obvious. I’ll change my looks. No one will recognize me, not even you.”

  He shrugged. “You’re right.”

  She gave him a suspicious look. That had been way too easy. But when she came out after changing her clothes, he was sitting on the sofa, head thrown back, eyes closed, and long legs stretched out before him.

  “You should use the bed while I’m gone,” she said.

  He lifted his head. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Two hours, probably. It depends on how many shops I have to visit to get what we need.”

  He came to his feet with what, in most people, would pass for grace. But not Gabriel. She caught the small adjustments in his balance, as if he’d felt weak or lightheaded and was trying not to show it.

  “Sleep,” she said, pushing him toward the bedroom. Maybe that was all he needed, a good few hours’ sleep. She knew he’d been awake for most of the night in the condo, and he couldn’t have gotten much sleep on the floor last night.

  She gathered grocery bags and a small purse, which had more than enough money for what she needed. She had a Glock 26 Gen 4 sub­compact in a belly band holster, because no disguise was good enough to convince her to go out unarmed. But she didn’t expect to use it. She’d stayed in this house often enough that she knew the rhythms of the streets, knew all the best hiding places and escape routes. Plus, the title was held under so many layers of corporate holdings—none of them traceable to anyone in her family—that it simply wouldn’t show up on even the deepest dive
of her personal holdings.

  The last thing she did before leaving the house was check on Gabriel who’d taken her advice and stretched out on the bed, but he didn’t stir. She left the house through the back door, careful to lock it behind her. She did pause long enough to check the outdoor oven, to be sure there was no trace of the clothes they’d burned. But the oven was empty. Not even ashes were left. She was shaking her head ruefully when she let herself out through the gate. Gabriel’s skills apparently included leaving no trace. She wondered what other talents he was hiding, and if she’d ever find out.

  GABRIEL HEARD HANA leave the house through the back door, then waited for the gate’s squeak. He’d noticed it last night and won­dered if she’d left it noisy on purpose, as an early warning of invaders, or if it was so faint that she didn’t hear it at all. Since the night he’d been made a vampire, his senses were much sharper than they had been, far superior to that of an ordinary human. Nico’s spell had undone most of the changes his vampire Sire had wrought, but not that one. He was still faster and stronger than a typical human warrior, still had greatly enhanced senses. In fact, the only real changes made by Nico’s spell had been to eliminate his body’s need to sleep with the rising sun, and the worst curse of all, his need to drink human blood. He closed his eyes briefly, grieving the loss of that part of Nico’s spell. He’d have given up any of the other changes, would have gladly surrendered every one of his skills in battle to be free of that one monstrous need.

  But then the squeak of the back gate reminded him why he was still living, why he’d been set free of his stone prison. It wasn’t for his own benefit, it was for Hana’s. He was sworn to protect her. He leapt to his feet . . . and nearly fell on his ass, managing only at the last minute to catch himself so that he sat on the bed instead. His vision was growing blurry, graying out as if a fog was drifting over his face, and when he reached up to rub his eyes, his hand was shaking as badly as his grand­mother’s at the end of her very long life. Even worse, his fingers when they came away from his eyes were wet with pink tears, as if he were crying blood.