Then again… she was still alive.
And you couldn’t argue that the relationship hadn’t been good for Tohr. He was back to the size he’d been when John had first met him, huge, hard, and strong. And come on, he hadn’t walked into a death trap of a gunfight or leaped off a bridge in, like, months.
Good thing Qhuinn had taken up the slack on that one. Yay.
Besides, No’One was tough not to approve of: She was very nonbimbo… quiet. Unassuming. Not at all bad to look at.
There were so many worse candidates out there in the world. Gold diggers. Stuck-up glymera types. Spacy, big-breasted gigglers.
Letting his head fall back against the concrete wall, he closed his eyes as he heard the pair of them talking. Soon enough, the voices stopped and he assumed they’d taken off, likely to go to bed—
Okay, he was so not going there.
Left to his little lonesome, he listened to Blay’s soft breathing and occasional repositioning of limbs, resolutely keeping his mind off Xhex.
Funny, this stretch of wait-and-worry felt like old times… he and Blay waiting on Qhuinn.
Man, they were lucky the guy had come back alive.…
As his memory coughed up images from that mansion on the river, he saw Wrath going down to the floor, and V with his gun up to Assail’s head… and Tohr going body-shield over the king. Then he and Qhuinn were searching the house… arguing next to that sliding glass door… fighting over his best friend going out into the night, uncovered and alone.
You need to let me do what I can.
Qhuinn’s eyes had been resolute and utterly unafraid, because he knew his capabilities, knew that he could go out on a Hail Mary and rough shit up, knew that even though there was a chance he wasn’t coming home, he was strong enough and sure enough of his fighting skills that he would do everything possible to decrease that risk.
And John had let him go. Even though his heart had been screaming and his head had been ringing and his body prepared to block the way out. Even though it hadn’t just been lesser new recruits out there, but the Band of Bastards, who were highly trained, very experienced, and brutal as hell. Even though Qhuinn was his best friend, a male who mattered to him in this world, someone whose loss would rock him for life.…
Shit.
John put his palms to the front of his face and gave himself a good buffing.
Except no amount of rubbing was going to change the revelation that was creeping up on him, unwelcome and undeniable.
He saw Xhex in that meeting with the Brotherhood back in the spring, when she had offered to find Xcor’s lair: I can take care of that—especially if I hit them in the daytime.
She had been utterly hard eyed and clearheaded, sure of herself and her capabilities. You people need me to do what I can.
When it had been his best friend? He hadn’t liked it, but he’d stepped aside and let the male do what he had to for the greater good—even though there was mortal danger involved. If something had happened to the guy and he’d died? John would have been crushed… but that was the code of soldier, the code of Brotherhood.
The code of males.
Losing Xhex would be so much worse, of course, because he was a bonded male. But the reality was, in trying to save her from some violent fate, he’d lost her completely: They had nothing left, no passion, no conversation, no warmth… little contact. And it was all because his protective urge had taken over.
It was all his fault.
He had mated a fighter—and then freaked when the risk-of-injury thing had gone from the hypothetical into the actual. And Xhex was right—she didn’t want him dead or in the hands of the enemy, and yet she was allowing him to go out there every night.
She was letting him do what he could to help.
She wasn’t permitting her emotions to try to stop him from executing his job—and if she had? Well, then he would have explained patiently and with love that he was born to fight, and he was careful with himself, and…
Kettle, black, much?
Besides, how would he have felt if someone had viewed his being mute as a rate limiter for fighting? How would he have reacted if he’d been told, in spite of all his other qualifications and skills, in spite of his natural talent and instincts, that because he couldn’t speak, he wasn’t allowed on the field?
Being female was not a disability in any sense of the word. But he had treated it as such, hadn’t he. He had decided that because she was not male, in spite of all her qualifications and skills, she couldn’t go out into conflict.
As if breasts suddenly made shit more dangerous.
John restarted with the rubbing, his head beginning to thump with pressure. His bonded side was ruining his life. Strike that—it had ruined his life. Because he wasn’t sure, no matter what he did now, whether he could get Xhex back.
He was, however, certain about one thing.
Abruptly, he thought about Tohr and that oath.
And knew what he had to do.
As Tohrment walked toward her, No’One became breathless: His massive body was shifting from side to side to the rhythm of his gait, his burning eyes fixing on her as if he meant to consume her in some vital way.
He was ready to mate, she thought.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, he was coming to take her.
I want to fuck you.
Her hand went to the tie on her robe, and it was a shock to realize that she was prepared to open her clothing at this moment. Not here, she told her fingers. Somewhere else, though…
There were no thoughts of that symphath, no anxiety over whether it would hurt, no sense that she might regret this. There was just a resonant peace in the midst of her body’s pounding need that this male was what she wanted; this mating was what she had waited so patiently for.
They were both ready.
Tohrment stopped in front of her, his chest pumping up and down and his hands curling into fists. “I’m going to give you the chance to get away from me. Right now. Leave the training center and I’ll stay here.”
His voice was warped, so low and deep that his words were nearly unintelligible.
Hers, on the other hand, was very clear: “I shall not depart from you.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying? If you don’t go… I’m going to be inside you in another minute and a half.”
She kicked her chin up. “I want you in me.”
A great growl rose up from him, the sort of sound that, had she heard it in another context, might have terrified her. But face-to-face with this magnificent, aroused male? Her body responded with a marvelous loosening, further preparing to accept him.
He was not gentle as he scooped down and picked her up, swinging her legs high and catching them in the crook of his arm. And he was not slow as he went forth toward the pool—as if the idea of getting them to a proper bed in the big house was simply too much to bother with.
Whilst he strode off with her captured like a prize, she stared up at his face. His brows were down hard, his mouth parted to reveal his fangs, his coloring high with anticipation. He wanted this. Needed this.
And there was no going back.
Not that she would have chosen to. She loved the way he made her feel in this moment.
Although she supposed it was treacherous to take compliment in the desperation with which he took possession of her. He was still in love with his dead mate. Then again, he did want her—and that was enough. That was, mayhap, all she would ever have—and yet, as she had told him, so much more than she could ever have prayed for.
Upon his will, the glass door to the pool’s entry hall opened wide for them, and as it eased shut in their wake, she heard its lock slip into place. Then they were traveling fast through the anteroom, and rounding the corner into the pool proper, the warmth of that thick, humid air making her body even more languid—