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“No.” Beatrice exhaled. “She left. I cannot tell you where she is, but . . .” Then she paused. “We will go to her once we secure our weapon and kill Chester, though.” Beatrice glanced at Eli and asked, “That is not me lying to her, yes?”
“Correct,” Eli said.
My grandmother stared at me, seeming less terrifying and more upset. “Bathed in the blood of your enemy. It is a fearsome look, but humans . . . they will be alarmed. I have learned this. Bathe. Then we will depart. We have a few hours to make our escape. I have a vehicle all ready for this plan.”
Iggy sighed. “I have hesitations, Bea.”
She shot him an angry look.
He held up his hands and added, “But I have no better plan.”
I wanted to ask questions, and I wanted to go immediately. I hated to waste time, but a few minutes would remove the gore and allow me to try to clear my mind. That seemed necessary.
Ultimately, it was not my decision. Eli took my hand and led me to our bathroom, so I could wash away Chester’s blood.
11
GENEVIÈVE
Within our bathroom, plants bloomed, and light filtered in through skylights. The ground was covered in grass. Behind the plants was a marble rainfall shower to rinse off anything nasty before climbing into the tub. I’d made use of this bathroom even before this had become my home. A number of the plants were fae-origin, so they were sensitive to blood and any outside contaminant.
The shower was my first stop: wash away Chester’s blood.
“I can pack a few things if you want privacy.” Eli gestured to the marble rainfall shower behind plants as if to encourage me to go into it, but I needed a moment.
I stripped out of the blood-stained things and shoved them into a contaminates bag. Yes, we had those here at home. There were small practicalities in both this and my original apartment because my life included violence. Violence often meant blood.
“Do you need any stitches?” Eli asked, peering at me. “Are thereotherinjuries? Bones broken? Anything . . . internal? Or that you didn’t want to mention in front of your family?”
I realized then that our usual connection was tamped down. I often felt Eli, and our shared bond, like a buzz in my brain. “No. Nothing. I was dunked, shocked, and that’s . . . it.”
“Shocked?”
The memory of live wires in the saltwater was enough to make me flinch. “A lot. Shocked a lot.”
“My love . . .” Eli took a long silent look at me. “I wish I could’ve been there, taken the pain or something.”
“Honestly, the worst thing was that he said you were breaking our bond,” I said in a shaky voice. “I was afraid, not that you actually would but that Marcus would trap you or try to force y—”
“I told my uncle I’d rather die than lose you,” Eli said, staring at me like I was the loveliest thing in the world even though I was dressed in blood.
I stepped into the shower, letting the water wash away some of the nastiness.
In the far end of the room was an enormous tub. It was cut of one stone, and a small waterfall poured down the wall as if nature had been captured inside. It seemed more like an indoor pond. I admitted to myself, though, that I didn’t really want to be in a tub after being dunked in one.
I glanced at Eli, thinking about him joining me. “I would like you near me.”
As I turned, he grimaced. “You have a burn . . .” He gestured at my now blood-free chest where the chain links had charred my skin.
“Restraints. Electricity. Water.” I sighed. “I wish I could’ve killed him.”
“We’ll find a way,” Eli pronounced.
Honestly, I appreciated the way Eli looked and acted, but his clarity and strength were equally treasured. He didn’t ask me to be anything other than what I was. He didn’t find my dangerous life off-putting enough to abandon me. He was the steadiness I cherished, the strength that completed me, the calm that let me rage.
“Join me?” I asked as the water sluicing over me started to run almost clear. It wasn’t sexual. I think we both needed the simple assurance of skin-to-skin reminders. We were here. We were together. We were alive.
My husband stripped and stepped into the shower. Without saying a word, he took a bottle of shampoo and began to wash my hair. One of the parts of marriage that not enough people address is that these rituals of caretaking, these basic acts of cherishing one another, were just as important as the grand gestures or explosive sex. I liked the other parts, too, but there was something amazing about all the tiny gestures. Grand gestures were easier, flashier, but true love included reminders every day that said “you are treasured” or “let me show you that I care.”
