by Megan Starks
But that night, she buried her face against his neck and cried hiccupy tears while he splinted her arm so it would heal straight.
Gisele awoke with a start, yellow-and-green floral sheets pulled tight around her body. She struggled out from the cocoon, kicking the sheets off the bed. Already, the memory-dream was turning hazy. The weight of it was too much for her mind to handle.
And so it was forgotten.
She’d been stripped down to her underwear. No weapons, no clothes, no bra. The underwear was bloodied—dried but completely coated down one side and part of the front. Blood crusted her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. Her skin felt tight and raw, pink in its newness.
She worked her arm and ran a hand gingerly up the side of her throat. Both were mottled with fresh scabs and scars, little grooves and ridges that felt strange beneath her fingers. She looked like ground hamburger meat—that someone had chewed and spit back out.
An unsettling feeling permeated her. One that she didn’t think had to do with her physical aches.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have risked it. God, I was so stupid.”
She flinched at the voice, nearly jumping out of her newly healed skin, and turned to see Shade sitting in a kitchen chair that he’d placed in the corner of the room. For a moment, she just stared at him. He’d undressed her.
“We should’ve just buried her and been done with it. But I was an idiot. I needed to know she couldn’t come back. I never thought—I risked everything. Forgive me, Gigi.”
He’d stood, propelled by his words.
No casual, ‘oh, you’re awake.’ No cold and chiding, ‘this is why I can’t leave you alone.’
He was apologizing—but she was the one who’d dropped his hand.
“You’re okay,” she said at last, relieved at the sight of him, safe.
His lips parted as he sucked in a breath. He took a half-step forward, then tried to step back, bumped the chair, and sat hard on his ass.
She dragged the newly bought sheets back and covered her chest. It hurt to move, had hurt to speak, hurt to even breathe.
She didn’t know why she’d covered herself—she wasn’t the modest type. Normally, she couldn’t give a shit if someone caught a glimpse of her body. But when she’d turned to him, Shade had flicked his eyes at her breasts, lingering for less than a second before they returned to her face. And for some reason that lack of interest bothered her.
Had she wanted him to leer at her? How stupid. Had she wanted him to find her attractive, even battle-torn and covered in blood? Yes.
“Gigi,” he said, crawling onto the bed. The mattress dented under his weight.
She cut him off. “Did she burn? Did you bring the hellfire back with you? Did it even work?”
She tried to picture the flames flickering wildly inside the confines of the circle they’d carved, consuming their enemy, charring Vyx to nothing but ash and regret.
But she couldn’t. She hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, hadn’t confirmed their success, and now she’d never know, not for sure. She could only trust Shade’s word.
“She burned,” he swore. “She’ll never hurt us again. If I’d have come back any later…” He clenched his jaw so tight she thought the bone might snap. “You needed me, and I didn’t even know. I keep failing you.”
“You keep saying that. What happened? There were hellhounds waiting for us.” Hellhounds and a man from her nightmares.
Shade stiffened at her words. His face closed, hurt and anger fluttering over his features before disappearing behind a mask of indifference. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I set you up.”
Ah, he thought she was accusing him. She hadn’t been, but his prickly reaction pissed her off.
For someone who wanted her trust, he wasn’t so quick to give it in return.
“Did you?”
“That’s what you wanted to ask me?” he scowled. “Really?”
“No, that’s not what I wanted to ask you,” she scowled right back. “But you shoved it in my face. I meant, how did your master know when you entered the veil? It’s like he was waiting for it. He tried to summon you through to the other side—I saw it, Shade.”
He’d tried to steal Shade away from her, and he’d almost succeeded. Her pulse jumped and fluttered at the thought.
“Rhogan,” Shade said darkly. His mask cracked, his regret evident as he brushed gentle fingers down the side of Gisele’s neck. “He hurt you, even after I swore he never would again.” He looked…shamed.
She couldn’t focus on his words, not now, couldn’t linger on the claim that Rhogan had hurt her before and Shade had vowed to protect her from it ever happening again. The memories she tried to conjure in response made her head hurt and her chest squeeze tight.
She needed to think about something else.
“For months you didn’t say more than ten words to me. You wouldn’t even look at me.”
That wasn’t true. She’d caught him watching her all the time. He’d just avoided her attempts at conversation, brusque and closed to her probing questions.
He’d followed her around.
Kept an eye on her for the woman he’d contracted himself to.
How many times had he trailed her and she’d never even noticed? She thought back to the night at the Curators of the Cursed. He’d been there—she hadn’t hallucinated him in her delirium. He was the winged man who’d helped her, who’d used the lights to give her an advantage in her fight against Canaan. But where had he been during her fight in the pit, when she’d thought Beast was going to kill her? He hadn’t swooped in to save the day, hadn’t pulled her to safety, even when the Mardoll had burned through every nerve ending in her body.
He hadn’t wanted to give himself away.
Instead, he’d hidden behind the lights and waited for his chance to steal the curio.
He’d only ever been aloof and terse with her before, but now that his cover was blown, he was opening up to her about so many things. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was merely his newest strategy.
“This whole time, you and Vyx served the same master. I asked you right to your face, but you didn’t tell me.” There was no heat to her voice, but the accusation hung heavy between them.
He pulled back, his fingers leaving her skin. “You already thought I was helping her. Would you have believed me?”
“No. Because you keep secrets. And you tell half-truths to manipulate me.”
His expression flattened as he blew out a frustrated breath. Then he held very still, as if worried a wrong move on his part would send her bolting from the bed.
He said nothing for a long while, watching her with a mixture of emotions swimming in his eyes. Finally, he slid his tongue over his teeth and admitted, “I want to tell you.”
“Did you undress me?” she asked, switching directions on him.
He flushed and tripped over his next words, flustered as he said, “I—you were—I carried you back. Beast nearly killed me when he saw the state you were in. I tried to clean up most of the blood.”
He wasn’t lying. He’d tugged on a shirt, but she could see that the front of him was slathered and stained with blood from where he’d held her. It still coated his arms and part of his neck. He’d tried to clean her up, but hadn’t bothered with himself.
Gisele softened a bit, considering the panic he must’ve felt. Her body was banged up but fine. It’d endured worse before. She thought about inviting him to shower with her but hesitated over the words. She both trusted and distrusted him. She wasn’t sure what to feel.
“Never mind.” About everything. “I should shower. I feel disgusting. You can have it after. You’ll still be here, right?”
He nodded. “Unless you don’t want me.”
She didn’t tell him to stay, but she didn’t tell him to leave, either.
Keeping the sheets around her, she eased gingerly from the mattress, hissing against the pain as she moved. She made it all the way to the bedroo
m door before he called to her.
“Gisele, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have risked it.”
Tossing a half-shuttered, half-curious look over her shoulder, she said, “Stop apologizing. I’m the one who let go of you.”
She caught a glimpse of his shocked expression, and then she left him. Limping as fast as she could manage, she was down the hallway and locking the door to the bathroom by the time he thought to chase her.
“Hold up!” he shouted.
His fist pounded loud on the door behind her. The wood rattled.
“Gisele! Gigi, open the door! What did you mean? Gigi, we’re not finished!”
She cranked up the hot water to drown out the sound.
19
The water was so hot it ached.
Gisele shuddered, pressing her forehead against the slick tile wall. She let the heat wash down her head, her neck, and between her shoulder blades. Her hair was plastered to her head, and she trembled. Sometimes healing left her weak and hungry and anguished. Sometimes it didn’t affect her at all. To feel this ill after her body had reknitted itself meant she’d been damaged—badly. The more damage she took, the closer to death she came, the more her survival instincts kicked in, and the faster her body raced to heal itself.
She felt like she’d just sprinted to a new record in two back-to-back marathons.
Gisele knew the sensation would pass. She would eat and rest and be well. She’d live.
How many times had she thought that before? How many busted lips and scraped knuckles, how many knives in her gut? Being ravaged by a vicious pack of hellhounds was a first, though.
She didn’t want to think about the sensation of teeth sliding through skin, of muscle tearing from bone. Instead, she thought of Shade, of how he’d looked in the woods. She thought of the way his wings had gleamed in the moonlight, the way his back had bowed, the muscles under his skin cording, thick and strong. The way he’d looked on his knees.
She bit her bottom lip and sucked, realizing she was straying into dangerous territory.
Hate him, the liar. Want him. Can’t trust him. Idiot, jerk-face.
She shampooed her hair and let the hot water run between her breasts, pinking her skin. She thought about the color of Shade’s eyes, sometimes clear, sometimes clouded. She ran soapy hands over her body. She wondered if he’d chosen it, such a pale gray—thought she might like it—or if it was a true representation of his soul, visible only when his more dominant, demonic traits had been locked away. She thought of the way Shade had kissed her. Then she soaped between her thighs.
Dangerous. She was playing with fire.
After she’d scrubbed good and clean, she dried herself and wrapped a fluffy, peach towel around her for warmth. Yeesh. She looked like a clump of cotton candy.
Pastel-colored towels were a horrible fit for her, considering how often she found herself cleaning up blood and grime, but that’s what she got for sending a minotaur to do her shopping. Beast apparently felt she deserved nothing but soft, fluffy, and floral things. Things better suited for a princess than a bounty hunter.
She rubbed a patch in the middle of the fogged over mirror clear to glimpse herself. Her sheared horns were growing back at a snail’s pace, far slower than she would’ve expected if she hadn’t already had firsthand knowledge from trying to file them off when she was a kid. She touched a hand to the little lumps and winced as if she’d massaged a bruise. Damn.
Her damp hair and skin smelled like honeyed amber, and her cheeks were flushed from the shower. She looked revved up and ready to go.
Satan save her.
She swung the door open. The instant she did, she was assaulted by Shade’s voice.
“What did you mean, you let go of me? And don’t ignore me this time. I’m not dropping it until I get answers.”
Shade had leaned the hard line of his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t knocked the door down, opting to give her privacy. But he hadn’t relented. He’d waited, stubborn and simmering.
“Tell me whose name is on your chest,” she countered.
“You know whose,” he snapped back, eyes hot with anger. “Even if I can’t say it. Now answer me.”
“I let go of you,” she said flatly. “The hounds tore me down, and I dropped your hand.”
“But you anchored me. I came back.”
This was why she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. She couldn’t explain it—no, didn’t want to. To explain would mean to accept it, and she wasn’t ready for that.
She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her shoulder and knocked her into the wall. He was on her fast, angry, desperate. His fingers dug into her hard enough to bruise. Her head swam.
She jerked in his grip, but he knocked her back against the wall again, and her towel fell. He pressed his body over hers. The weight of him was almost crushing.
“Let me go, or I’ll remove your manhood.”
Rather than release her, he buried his face in her damp hair, cupping the side of her throat with a calloused hand. His thumb trembled where it brushed her jaw.
He was clutching her, too needy to let her go.
“Say it,” he demanded, the noise a growling in his chest that vibrated through her own. “Say it, Gigi. Please. Tell me.”
Why did he want this so badly he shivered and begged against her? And why didn’t she want to give it to him? Because it scared her? Because she was afraid to accept it was real?
“I called you back.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears, tight. She licked her lips. “I called you to me. I claimed you.”
He sagged against her in whole-bodied relief. Then he took a deep breath to collect himself and straightened, pulling back enough to study her face. Cool air caressed her skin, and she missed the warmth of his body.
His face was hard-set, intense.
“Gigi, you know I can’t lie to you anymore. So believe me when I say I’m—”
Three thick, dark brown fingers encircled Shade’s neck from behind, so large they enclosed his throat, fingers and thumb crushing his Adam’s apple. Shade gagged. He was hauled backwards, stumbling, hands digging at the fingers around his throat.
“Little dragon hungers too much for Half-blood,” Beast rumbled, the words like the sound of a whip striking and splitting boulders. “Is too dangerous.”
Gisele stooped and retrieved her towel, once more wrapping herself in its comfort, as Shade bucked in Beast’s grip. The minotaur had lifted him in the air and grabbed his left wrist to keep him from prying his thumb free. His face was flushed scarlet. When his sclera bled black, blotting his eyes with what looked like tar, she knew she had to do something.
“Shade.”
He slid those liquid black, depthless eyes to her face, and she swallowed hard, seconds ticking by.
She had to know he’d make good on his word—that he’d never hurt her, and that included what was hers, what she held in her heart.
A moment passed between them, she hoped, of understanding.
He stopped fighting, and Beast slammed him into the wall, down on his knees, left arm wrenched up behind him so high Gisele thought it might break. Shade grunted against the pain, and with his face pressed to the wall, looked to Gisele, expectant.
Well? the gnashing of his fangs seemed to ask.
She stepped close and knelt, staring into the endless depths of his demon eyes. “Let it go.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, his eyes faded back to normal. When the demonic presence drained from him, the pain seemed to hit him harder, and he gasped, cold sweat beading on his brow. It took a minute before he could speak.
“Okay. Now what?” he grated, sounding like he’d swallowed glass.
She smiled at both her boys. “Now we get something to eat.”
The kitchen was upstairs in the old building, on the same level with the bedrooms and the bath. It was a squat and square room, cramped with Beast inside, but she liked it.
A butcher-block table with
distressed, pastel-blue legs had been built in the center of the room. Cabinets with the same paint job lined the walls around it, and cherry stained wood floors spanned the width underneath, matching the den-slash-office directly below, downstairs. One wall gleamed with white windows framing a brick range hood over a stainless steel stove. The countertops were white, simple.
Beast rattled through the pantry and fridge as he made them turkey and cheese sandwiches. Though he said nothing, it was his version of an apology.
Gisele thought it was cute. The minotaur had a heart of gold, and whether or not she knew his past, she didn’t doubt him to look out for her.
She’d dried her hair, but hadn’t bothered combing it, leaving it thick and tangled. She’d shimmied into a fitted, black tank top and lacy, black boy-shorts, not bothering with a bra or pants, liking how it seemed to distract Shade. He’d watched her from the table while she’d flitted about the cabinets, pulling plates and mismatched glasses.
Beast didn’t join them for the meal, opting to stand guard, wary, as he washed dishes in the sink. She got the impression he both liked and disliked Shade. Which was how she felt, as well. Ambivalence was unusual for her. Normally, she knew exactly what she thought about something or someone, and she never doubted her instincts. But with Shade, she experienced so many conflicting feelings. She didn’t know what was real or right.
Was he good or bad for her? Was he sincere or false? Earlier, she’d thought for sure she’d been wrong about him, that he was a good person at heart. But a different voice whispered in the back of her mind to be cautious, else she end up with a knife to her throat.
“Let’s play Twenty Questions.” She slid him a glass of water and a plate with two sandwiches across the table.
He took a sandwich and flicked his gaze to her, not bothering to hide the heat in his gaze. “Oh, fun. Round two, then. Well, at least I’m not tied to a bed this time.”
Maybe she wasn’t the only one playing with fire.
She might’ve said something flirtatious in return, but Beast clattered the dishes in the sink, jarring her out of her playful mood.
