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He wanted to tell himself not to lose his head, that this changed nothing. The vampire world she inhabited would separate them eventually. He still couldn't be part of that world. But despite all this shit happening, being here gave him this sense of . . . completion. Just like that sappy chick flick that was quoted every which way in the nineties, such that even he'd picked up the line. He couldn't imagine ever wanting to be without it.
“He took me to seeThe Big Easy at an outdoor movie showing in the park one night, soon after we met.
Lying on a picnic blanket under the stars, I was quite . . . impressed by Dennis Quaid, how he said ‘cher.
' ” A light smile touched her lips, not quite so desolate. “It was a nice night. When Daegan teased me, calling me by that endearment, it stuck, for both of us.”
“If he wasn't around . . .” Gideon said softly. She closed her eyes, but he cupped her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheek again. “This is another one of those car games. You have to finish the thought, the first thing that comes into your head. And remember, I already heard it, so you can't lie.”
“I wouldn't feel as safe.” Her voice broke. “But Gideon, we . . . Something is so . . . It's shattered, what was between us.”
“He's here for you, Anwyn. I don't care how far you push him away, or how he holds himself behind that tight-ass façade of his, he'll never stop watching over you.”
But I wanted more than that . . .She couldn't say it aloud, though.And the chance is gone.
He couldn't answer the sheer desolation in her mind, the grief. There was no answer to give when a wound was still free-flowing, hadn't even begun to heal. So he just folded his arms around her, held her close, rocked her through new tears, gave her the comfort he knew she'd lacked for the past few hours, sitting in her chains, refusing to take any from Daegan.
When she finally ran down, her hand slid down his neck, smoothed over his chest, resting on his heartbeat. She stroked him there, an absent, repetitive motion as she regained her composure; then her touch slowed, stilled. “Is this a scar? I don't remember it before.”
“I have plenty of them. And unfortunately, a third mark doesn't get rid of the old ones. Just the new ones.” Which was good, because his skull appeared to be as hard as ever, even though she'd pounded it like a grape, to his vague recollection. He placed his hand over hers, putting his fingers in the spaces.
Then he frowned, realizing he didn't recognize the scar, either.
Seeing or hearing his confusion, he wasn't sure which, she lowered her hands to the hem of his T-shirt and tugged.
It was the unconscious, possessive way of a Mistress, and seeing her reclaim that did the usual odd things to him.
She gave him a glance, a faint trace of humor fighting its way into her gaze. But when she looked down, he blinked, bringing what was over his left pectoral into focus. At first, he thought it was a new scar because it was a burnished crimson color, like drying blood, but the edges were too precise. It was a trinity of teardrop-shaped scars, arranged in a rough circular arrangement to one another.
A vampire's third mark. He'd forgotten about the spontaneous, unique mark that would appear on a human when fully marked as a servant. A mark whose shape and symbolism were determined by some force outside the vampire or servant's control.
He could tell she knew what it was as well, and she reached out now. For a minute, he didn't want her to touch it, didn't want to feel solid proof that it was real. Almost as much as he did want her to touch it, for reasons he feared were the same.
As if she'd sensed his reluctance, her hand withdrew before the contact was made, fingers closing. Her gaze shifted from the mark to where she'd bitten his throat.You have the mark, but some things haven't changed, have they?
Before he could answer that, she pushed away and stood. “I'm going to go clean up now,” she decided, her voice and face full of so much. “By myself. But thanks for the offer to help.” She moved away from him, a tired, filthy, beautiful woman, so messed up, and yet so strong at once.
She turned at the cell door, looked back at him, her lips quirking.
Same goes, Gideon. Same goes.
He did follow her, made sure she had what she needed in the bathroom, and then gave in to her desire for privacy. It provided him a little time to absorb the way he felt, physically. It was unreal, because his body was healed, not even a residual soreness from being almost killed. It also gave him time to focus on other concerns, and he followed one of them to Daegan's room.
The door was cracked and the vampire was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into space. He hadn't yet cleaned up, either. Gideon's newly enhanced olfactory senses caught another odor, though. “You . . .
You threw up.”
Daegan, obviously aware of his presence, pulled out of his thoughts to look toward him. “There hasn't been much time for hygiene, vampire hunter. It was yesterday. After she marked you.” Gideon had thrown up a couple times in his career as a vampire hunter. Usually after doing something truly terrible he knew needed doing, but it didn't make it any easier. Still, keeping it on a casual footing, he leaned in the doorway and eyed the vampire.
“Morning sickness? Or in your case, twilight sickness?”
Daegan gave him a gimlet eye. “The last time I threw up was after my first annual kill. Blood in a toilet looks obscene. But I expect you've had enough blows in the kidneys to know that.” As he rose and began to turn away, obviously dismissing him, Gideon spoke again.
“I couldn't have done what you did. Making her mark me.”
“You're not a vampire, Gideon. She would have ripped your head off. She just about did.”
“I'm not a ruthless son of a bitch. That's why I couldn't have done it.” Despite the aggressive words, Daegan didn't seem to take issue with it. Maybe because he agreed with it, and that didn't sit as well in Gideon's gut as he would have expected.
“You shouldn't be on your feet yet. You're too pale,” Daegan noted, without looking toward him. He was at his dresser, unbuttoning his shirt, apparently preparing for the shower. Or sending a less-than-subtle hint to Gideon to get lost.
“Pot calling the kettle black. Or white as my ass, in this case. I'm fine.”
“Yes, you're ready to take on a vampire horde.” The vampire's dryness was unsettling because it was reassuring, like an older brother's rough caress. But Gideon had never had an older brother.He'd been the older brother, the one who took care of everything.
The vampire shrugged out of the shirt, showing muscled, knotted shoulders. “I plan on beating you senseless for letting her go up there. It will not be as pleasurable if I feel like I'm kicking an injured puppy.”
Asshole.“You know why I did it. She was feeling—”
Daegan brought a hand down on the dresser, hard enough that the wood cracked. It startled Gideon enough he reached for a weapon that wasn't there, but Daegan remained where he was. He leveled a cold eye on Gideon, reminding him that, brief moment of fraternal camaraderie or not, Daegan Rei did not view him as a family member. He viewed him as a human, and now as a servant. It struck a spark of defiance inside Gideon's chest. But the vampire didn't give him a chance to speak.
“Coddling her doesn't help. She's not some gentle, doe-eyed girl who wants to wear your varsity jacket. She is a Dominatrix who has become a vampire, who is going through a transition, who may never be able to have full control of her own life again. Accepting that, making the most of her life, is going to be the hardest thing she's ever done, but if you trust anything about me, trust that the only way we can get her to do that is to expect nothing less.”
Because Gideon knew it was only the truth, his belligerence receded somewhat. He remained silent a few moments. “Whendid you last feed?”
“Unless you're offering me a meal, which, in your own words, will happen when hell freezes over twice on my ass, I expect that's my concern. What do you want, Gideon?” Daegan ran a hand over the back of his neck, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling rather than toward the doorway.
Gideon's jaw flexed. “It's going to take both of us to get her through this.”
“All three of us, actually, because Anwyn's will is a very important component of it. This isn't going to be easy. Not today, or tomorrow. Not for months or even years.”
“So we have to rely on one another. Trust one another.”
“Well, let's not lose our heads.” Something must have shown in Gideon's expression, because Daegan dropped the sarcasm. “What are you trying to say to me?”
“I've never been able to rely . . . on someone else. Not for a while. I don't have a lot of experience with it.”
“That makes two of us.” Daegan turned away, toward a wall mirror that showed nothing except Gideon in the doorway behind him, a tactical move where he didn't have to let Gideon see his face, but could keep tabs on his whereabouts. He stood for a moment in silence; then he spoke. “I'll be leaving in a few days.”
For a moment, Gideon just blinked at him, not sure he'd heard him correctly. Then he led with his uppermost thought. “Have you lost your fucking mind? She's not even close to being in control.” Daegan turned, his freaking cyborg expression back in place. “A couple days ago you would have told me to fuck off if I offered you any help at all. Now you sound like a whiny child.”
“Better than a bloodsucker who takes off because his girlfriend gives him the cold shoulder and he can't fucking handle it. Hell, you've been brooding for the past few days. Seems like the two of you are made for each other.”
Gideon saw the male's hands clench, the shoulders knot further in impressive display. If it was possible, the vampire became more still.
“She could hate me with everything she is, vampire hunter. Curse me, spit on me, treat me like garbage, from now to the end of time. And if by her side was where she needed me to be, in order to protect and offer her the best chance at a meaningful life, then that is where I would stay.Nothing she could do would drive me from it.”
