“Why? She stayed there her whole life. Wasn’t she happy?”
He took a breath. “She stayed there for me. Back home, how would she explain a husband who never aged?”
“So you stayed for her, and she stayed for you. Sounds like love.”
With her hand lying on his chest above his heart, she must have felt his heart leap at the word. “It was. Without a doubt. But I think it would have been better if . . .”
Her palm slapped down with a startling sting and then hovered threateningly. “Watch what you say next.”
With his hand trapped under her head, he couldn’t defend himself. Nor, considering the dark thoughts that circled those long-ago choices, did he have the right to defend himself. “Since when are you a romantic?”
“Just because I’ve never loved anyone besides Mobi doesn’t mean no one else has loved. You love her still, or you wouldn’t hurt so much.”
For some reason, the accusation—no, it wasn’t an accusation; it just felt like one—bit deep. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Oh, this is just fucking. It doesn’t have anything to do with love, no more than my dancing does.”
He pulled his arm out from under her, despite her grumble. “Don’t call it that.”
“Don’t get all prim and proper on me now. It’s just a word. Like ‘mated.’ Like ‘love.’ ”
He propped himself up. “Why are you being so dismissive?”
In the dim room, her gaze was murky with shadows. “I’m not. I had a mind-blowing orgasm. I just don’t want you to think it’s anything more than that.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “Are you telling me we should just be friends?”
“Well, I know you married young, and you probably didn’t date much before that. And not much since, far as I can tell. We actually call it friends with benefits now.”
He gritted his teeth. “So I’ve heard.”
She reached up to touch his jaw. “I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to take her place.”
“You couldn’t.” When hurt flared in her eyes—and vanished as quick as a minnow flash on the water—he captured her hand and pressed a kiss into the center. He longed to see that impish smile again. Truly impish, since it contained more than a touch of the devil. “Carine was my sweetheart, my inspiration, my reason to live. Quite literally. But she would not have survived what you did, either before or after the demon.”
She softened against him. His elbow slipped across the rumpled covers until he was lying beside her again. The heat of their bodies had cooled, and she reached to flip the edge of the coverlet over their hips.
He touched the wild tangle of her hair. “Do you want to shower again?”
“You’re insatiable,” she murmured. “Give me a minute.”
His cheeks warmed. “I meant . . .” But her breathing deepened. With the slow expansion of her chest, he felt something sink into his. Not love—God, not that again—and not pain. But some awkward mix of the two, tangled, as he’d said earlier, around a core of the desperation they held in common. She’d wanted to get out of her life. Never mind what she claimed—the demon had known. And he’d wanted to get back into the life lost to him along with his arm.
He’d wanted this encounter, too. Had longed for it since he walked into the Shimmy Shack and seen her draped only in a snake and her insolence. She didn’t care how exposed she was, how raw. Still, she’d held a piece of herself inviolate and wielded it against the world. He’d feared he’d lost that ability himself, even before he’d lost his hand, but now he knew he could get it back. Through her.
Friends did such things for each other.
When she’d settled into sleep, he eased away, tucking up the blanket to replace his warmth. She sighed and turned on her belly. He echoed the sigh as he eyed the dimples framing the base of her spine. He squelched the temptation to let his tongue travel the path again.
Leaving her side, the room felt colder, darker. Now that his attention widened, he realized it was getting late. The night-roaming talyan would be rising soon. He felt the restlessness gathering around them, one of the reasons most of the men had private retreats elsewhere. The talyan were trained to suspend their emotions, lest their excesses attract dark interests, and the league had invented energy sinks to hold any inadvertent spikes of violent fury. But it couldn’t all be held back. Not forever.
Which was why even the best fighters didn’t live eternally. Eventually, they all broke. If not physically, then from the weight of their accumulated pain and sorrow.
Evil, of course, lasted longer.
He washed up quietly in the bathroom, then dressed in a fresh T-shirt and jeans and strapped on the hook, and left a similar uniform, minus the hook, at the foot of the bed for when she awoke. He’d have to bother the other women for something better fitting, since he didn’t want to visit her apartment when the police might be watching. Although Jilly was too short and Sera too staid to provide anything similar to Nim’s usual attire.
For some reason, the thought made him sigh in regret, and he let himself out of the room before he could examine the impulse.
He left his shirt untucked, lest thinking of Nim and her clothes—or lack thereof—betray him.
He found Archer and Ecco in the kitchen. Archer was scowling at a map spread across the table, and Ecco was, inexplicably, at the stove, with a ladle in hand. The fragrance of chicken and herbs wafted from the open stew pot.
When Jonah arched his brow, the big talya shrugged. “Jilly will be hungry later.”
Just as well she cooked for the league ahead of time, then, since Jonah knew Ecco couldn’t boil water. Malice, yes; water, no. “How is she?”
Without straightening from the map, Archer grunted. “Sera is still with her.”
“Did Andre give you anything?”
“A few possibilities. I don’t know what your woman did to him, but he passed out again and his vitals are down in coma range.”
Jonah considered. “Do me a favor. Don’t mention that to her.”
“That she might have killed him?”
“That she didn’t get everything we needed first.”
Archer gave him a lopsided grin. “Ah, the gentler sex.”
“I am reconsidering the illusion, yes,” Jonah said. “If Andre regains consciousness, we should let him go.”
Ecco rumbled. “Since when are you the forgiving type, missionary man?”
Jonah ignored the other talya. “He’ll run back to Corvus, given the chance.”
Archer drummed his fingers. “Niall would okay that. He won’t kill a child, even one who’s sold out to the devil.”
“Assuming Nim didn’t already kill him.” Jonah lifted one of the sticky notes on the map. “Andre said ‘flying,’ so you’re thinking airports.”
“Niall said we aren’t to make a move without him. So I’m not thinking anything, officially.” When Jonah gave him a long look, Archer shrugged. “But since Jilly is down and our fearless leader is distracted, unofficially, I’m thinking a small team on a quick reconnaissance—”
Ecco shook his head. “Better wait for the boss.”
“Since when do you obey the rules?” Archer asked.
“Since the girls started coming round and breaking them. Playing with them is more fun. And way scarier.” Ecco glowered at Jonah. “The next one was supposed to be mine.”
Jonah’s hackles rose in atavistic response to the challenge. “They aren’t trading cards.”
Ecco tapped the spoon against the side of the pot and turned slowly. “They should go to the strongest fighters.”
Jonah flexed his fingers. “They did.”
“Knock it off, you two,” Archer snapped. “We don’t understand the mechanism of the bond, but you can be sure there’s more to it than muscle.” He gave Ecco a long stare.