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She buried her face in his throat, not wanting him to see. She could let him see where that bastard had hit her, but she was ashamed of tears. Even though she'd held fast through all of it, he realized. Not trusting herself to let it go until now, when he held her.
It amazed him, broke his heart. It also told him just how much he loved her. Because of that he let himself trust her and cried a little himself. While holding her, rocking her, murmuring to her in a broken tone, telling her he was there.
At length, the shaking started to recede, and her sobs became more muffled. She let out a deep, shuddering sigh.
"I'd really like a bath, Quinn. And a change of clothes."
He wanted to do that for her too. Damn it, there was no way from the cellar to the upstairs apartment except through the office entrance or that hallway, and that required walking through the bar.
"It's all right," she said. "We'll stay here until they close."
The bar wouldn't close for hours. "Yeah, we will. But we're closing now."
"No. You need the money and the customers..."
"Thought we talked about this long ago." He touched her chin, gave her his best attempt at a stern look. "You may be the boss of me after quitting time, but when this bar's open, I'm the boss. The boss says we're closing early."
He eased her back to the blanket, humbled when her hands tightened on him, an involuntary sign of her not wanting him to leave her. "I'll be right back, Mistress. Promise."
It said a great deal that she didn't argue further, lying limp on the mattress in the way that drunks did, as if they were boneless. The comparison didn't reassure him. Kissing her hand, he folded it back against her. It took an act of will to go, but he strode through the cellar, went upstairs and locked the door firmly behind him. Taking a breath, he squared his shoulders and went to find Manuel.
*
Thirty minutes later, every customer was out of the bar, with the excuse that it was a family emergency. There was some grumbling from non-regulars, but getting their meal and drinks on the house helped. As did the regulars, bless their rowdy hearts, who helped him shepherd them out. He reassured Manuel, Carol and Maria in low tones that all was well, but that Selene needed quiet tonight. It said a great deal for their regard for Selene that they were far more concerned about her well-being and helping him with anything she needed than a work night cut short.
It didn't matter though. He knew he'd pay them for their time that night as if they'd worked the full shift. Loyalty deserved that. Selene would agree. She'd probably bitch about the revenue they'd lost tonight, but he'd look forward to that spirited argument when she was back on her feet.
Once he had the door locked and the shades pulled, he went back to get her. She hadn't moved, in the kind of somnolent doze she usually only demonstrated right before dawn. But when he lifted her, she wound an arm around his neck, let out that little relieved sigh again, like he was her fucking savior instead of the guy who'd gotten here way too late.
You couldn't have changed this, Quinn. It's over. The lopsided smile looked like it pained her. He had two of his territory vampires with him, and Claudio, his servant. Otherwise I would have taken him.
Yeah, you would have kicked his ass all the way back to the Statue of Liberty. He wanted to howl when he looked at her.
The worst thing was, it was only over if the Region Masters decided in her favor. Right then and there he realized if they didn't, he'd leave everything behind, do everything needed to help her run, hide. If they couldn't run and hide... His jaw tightened. He'd go back with her to New York. No matter what she'd worked out with Butch, Quinn would be at her side through anything she needed, no matter how horrible it got, and they'd figure out how to get away from Laurent again, another way.
So many times, he'd questioned why he felt so strongly for her so quickly, but in the end it didn't really matter, did it? It was the way he felt, and it wasn't changing, even in the face of all this shit.
He carried her up the stairs. Though her petite body had that dense weight thing happening that always surprised him, tonight she weighed nothing to him. He'd have carried her to the ends of the earth. If anything, it was like his feelings had expanded and grown three times since he saw her crumpled on that cot.
Setting her down on a towel on a chair in the bathroom, he started running the bath. Once it was warm enough, he stripped off all her clothes gingerly, steeling himself for what else he might see. There was blood on her thighs, but as he ran the pad of his thumb over her mound, he realized it came from a cut over it.
"He didn't...they didn't..." He was kneeling before her, and she reached out a hand quivering from physical stress, trailed it along his face. "They didn't do any of that."
He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. On top of everything else, if that bastard had raped her--violated his Mistress--he'd never be able to contain his rage. "I know it's stupid, given what else they did..."
"No it's not. I felt the same way when I was afraid...that he might. One is less...personal, if that makes sense. I didn't want him where...I only want you." Her face creased with a personal pain. "Christ, I'm a terrible vampire. The things I say to you, vampires aren't supposed to say to humans."
"Your secret's safe with me," he managed, his heart clenching.
She nodded, lifting her arms in mute appeal. Rising, he scooped her up, lowered her into the tub. Taking up the softest cloth he could find, he began to sponge her off, finding he had to hold her steady with one hand while he did it, like bathing a baby that couldn't hold itself up. She leaned against him, laid her cheek on his opposite shoulder. As he removed the blood from her back, he revealed that pattern of pinpoints, but also saw they were the first thing healing because of their size, many of them disappearing. He shifted her to do her face with another clean cloth, and found the slices there and on her breasts were closed and diminished as well.
They'll all be gone by morning. A good nap solves everything... She let out a snuffled sound, somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. He held her again, bending his head protectively over her, heedless of his sleeves getting soaked with blood-tinted water. She noticed though, her fingers moving to the buttons, fumbling it until he took over, shrugging the shirt off his broad shoulders so her hands could play over his skin, fingertips digging into his flesh as if reassuring herself he was really there. He let the water drain out, refilled it, keeping her warm with his arms around her until the clean water helped with that again.
The tub was just a small thing for the efficiency apartment, not big enough for them both, else he wouldn't have quelled the temptation to get in there with her. But she solved that one as well, lifting long-lashed blue eyes to focus on him, since the one eye had improved enough she could use both again.
"I'm strong enough for a shower now. I want you with me."
He doubted that first part, but if he was in there with her, he could help prop her up if a shower was what she wanted. Nodding, he guided her hands to the tub edge to ensure she had something to hold on to. Rising, he stripped off everything. As she lifted her hands to him, he stepped in, drew her to her feet. She curled her hands around his waist, her cheek on his chest, as he adjusted the water, held the spray away from her until the shower heated. Then he let the water stream down on her.
She tilted her head back, eyes closed, still holding on to him. He framed her face, kissed her cheeks gently, her forehead, her closed eyes, even as the spray made him close his own. His thumbs slid over the knife scars. In some way it seemed obscene that they were disappearing, as if Laurent's brutalit
y could be dismissed so easily.
He ran his hands over her, sluicing off the remaining blood. When she indicated she wanted him to wash her, he lathered up his hands with her fragrant soap, the one with a honey vanilla smell, and washed her thoroughly. He had no intentions of anything sexual at all. She could arouse him with nothing more than a look, but all he wanted to do was care for her. She had other ideas.
As she turned to lean back against him, letting him soap her front, she molded her hands over his as he ran them over her breasts, keeping them there, kneading. She rotated her hips against his cock and the mindless thing immediately responded, starting to harden. "Selene..."
"I need you, Quinn. Make him go away. Drive him from my head. From every part of me."
As she rubbed herself against him, something surged up in him. That rage he'd tamped down to care for her asserted itself in a glorious, territorial haze. He hated that Laurent had hurt her, hated that he'd touched her, torn off her clothes. And more, he felt something deep inside her that matched his rage. Fury of her own. Fury at her helplessness, that she couldn't control that situation or this one, that her fate was out of her hands, his proud Mistress who simply wanted to be free to command her own destiny.
He couldn't be rough with her, but he sensed she wasn't seeking that. He crowded her face forward against the steam-slick shower wall, pulling her hair to the side to kiss her neck, nip at her ear. Still cradling her breasts, he teased the nipples with his fingers, pressing his cock to her ass. She made a pleasurable sigh, a tremulous thing, her eyes shutting more tightly. He saw her throat move as she swallowed and he wondered if it had a hard ache like what was stuck in his own. Turning her to face him, he put his hands to her waist, lifted her, adjusting his cock so it slid without any resistance into her tight channel, slick and ready for him. She stared at him, the one eye almost fully healed. Her fangs showed, and he kissed them, let her scrape at his mouth as he tangled his fist in her hair, held her, pushed easy inside her as her legs lifted, locked over his waist.
