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He was down on his knees before her now, head lowering between her legs as the warm spray of the shower pelted him from above. On a deep growl, he turned his face toward the inside of her thigh and suckled the tender skin there. She moaned and gasped, her climax already building and he hadn't even put his mouth where he wanted it to be.
Kellan lifted her leg onto his shoulder, kissing her some more, taking wicked enjoyment in the fact that she was so ready for him, so eager and responsive. For him, he thought greedily. She'd said it herself that morning in his bed. There had been no one but him, not in all this time. Not ever.>"You saved his life," Mira finally managed to croak out of her dry throat, swamped by gratitude for this woman she hardly knew. "I thought he was dead, but you found him. You took care of him. You and Doc didn't know him at all, but you didn't let him die . . ."
Candice frowned slightly, gave a mild shrug. "He needed help. We gave it. That's all."
"You did all that, even though he was Breed."
"If you saw someone bleeding and broken in the street, would you stop to see if he was different from you before you lifted him up?"
Mira fell silent as Candice's words sank in. And then she knew a profound shame, because she realized that, not very long ago, she might have been the one to turn her back. Her hatred and mistrust of humans, rebels in particular, was so blind and deep, she likely wouldn't have even broken her stride if it had been one of them in need of her help.
It was ugly, what she'd allowed herself to become.
For so long, she'd held people like Candice and Doc and Nina in contempt, lumped together with lowlifes like Vince and Rooster - villains all of them, to be squashed under her boot or skewered by her blades.
And now . . . ?
She withdrew her hand from beneath Candice's loose grasp, feeling undeserving of the kindness she was being shown. She felt regret for the loss these people had suffered today. And she felt fear for what their future might hold, if what Kellan saw in her eyes eventually came to pass.
The coldness that thought brought with it settled in Mira's chest like ice. She needed to find some distance from the dread that was pressing down on her when she considered the price all of them might pay if her vision proved true.
Mira summoned what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "You should rest now. I'll let Doc know how you're doing."
At Candice's nod, Mira backed away from her bedside and pivoted toward the door. She paused there, gratitude rising inside her, swamping even the darker tide of emotion that was doing its best to pull her under.
She looked back at the human female who'd done the impossible eight years ago, bringing Kellan back from the dead and delivering the miracle Mira had hoped for so desperately. "Thank you for saving him."
Candice smiled. "My part was easy. Now it's your turn."
Chapter Fourteen
HIS CLOTHES WERE STICKING TO HIM IN THE HUMIDITY OF the bunker, his hands and forearms splattered with caked, dried blood. Even the faint, stale copper tang of the dead red cells had Kellan's head pounding and his muscles twitching with aggression as he stalked through the main corridor of the fortress.
He wanted to kill, not only because the predator in him was provoked by the scent of so much spilled blood today but because people he cared about - good people - had met with undeserved harm.
Because of him.
Because they'd trusted him as their leader, and he'd let them down.
He hadn't gone after Vince that morning like he'd intended. He still seethed with the urge to tear down all of Boston to find the bastard, but his crew had needed him here more. And the rational part of his brain reminded him that Mira was right: A full-scale pursuit in broad daylight would've been suicidal. He'd be dead soon enough, according to her vision. And he couldn't help thinking that the fact he hadn't run out into the sun today only fortified that he was still on a direct collision course with the fate he'd glimpsed in Mira's eyes.
Kellan's boots thudded hollowly in the corridor as he strode toward his quarters to change his clothes and clean up. The marked silence of the bunker around him was striking. He didn't like it. Didn't like knowing that he'd brought this trouble down on the base.
Despite living on the outermost fringes of the law, Kellan and his small band of rebels had never had violence cross their threshold to attack from within. They'd never lost one of their own before, not even in the field. They'd been lucky, keeping a low profile, running tight operations, and living off the grid. Avoiding the kind of unwanted attention and notoriety on which other rebel factions seemed to thrive. Now that they had suffered this blow, their shock and grief was running deep.
Kellan was no stranger to the feeling.
All of this bloodshed brought him back to his past, when he was a sheltered Darkhaven youth and evil had robbed him of his family. In a single night, a madman's violence had destroyed the Archers' primary estate in Boston, stripping Kellan of everyone he loved but his grandfather, Lazaro. Fortunately for the two of them, the Order had stepped in to offer its shelter and protection. They'd brought Kellan and Lazaro into the fold as the Order's own, a kindness Kellan could never hope to repay.
Especially not now.
And Mira . . .
She'd been there for him from the moment he first arrived on the Order's doorstep. A pint-size pain in his ass who wouldn't let any of his bullshit slide, not even then. He'd been so terrified of caring for someone after losing so many people he loved, he had refused to let anyone in back then.
And although he'd been a stupid boy, hardly able to recognize the bone-deep fear at the root of his sullenness and pain, Mira had been far wiser, even as a child. She'd seen right through him. She'd stubbornly taken him under her tiny wing as her friend and had refused to let go, not even when he pushed.
No, whenever he'd pushed, she'd dug in her heels and stood steadfast for him - just as she'd done today, taking it upon herself to pitch in like one of his crew, to show them true concern and support, in spite of how he'd left things with her.
