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I stared up at him. He seemed angry—but not at me, for me—and I wasn’t sure why. “What else would I do?”
“I don’t know. Move in with me. Go to college. Open a business. You decide—you’ve got a long life ahead of you. But not if you stay in Slayers, Inc.”
My heart thumped. Move in with Zaq?
I gave a slight shake of my head. “I took a vow.”
“So? You can leave, can’t you? It’s not like you signed your damn life over to them.”
“Of course I can leave. It’s not easy, but I could. But I believe in what I do. I don’t want to lea—” I halted, biting my lower lip. Because suddenly, I wasn’t so sure I didn’t want to leave. “Of course I can leave,” I repeated.
Zaq grunted and soaped up the cloth again. “Sit up. I’ll wash your back.”
I complied, and he moved the cloth in slow circles over my shoulders, my spine, my lower back. I made a low sound of pleasure. “That feels so good.”
He dropped a kiss on the place between my shoulders. “Want me to wash your hair?”
“Yes, please.”
“I like you like this.” His voice held amusement. “All sweet and submissive.”
I turned my head to frown at him, but I felt too relaxed and my mouth tugged to the side into a droll smile.
He chuckled and set the washcloth on the edge of the tub. “Relax and enjoy it.” He guided my head down to my chest and squirted shampoo from a wall dispenser into his hand.
I bent my legs, wrapping my arms loosely around them, and rested my head on my knees. Giving into the relaxed, good feeling.
Zaq massaged the lemon-scented shampoo into my hair and scalp, then used a shower attachment to rinse it out. “Conditioner?”
When I nodded, he got a palmful of conditioner from another dispenser and worked it in. “You’re not bad at this, Kral,” I said against my knees.
“Thanks.”
“You must do it a lot.” And yeah, I was fishing, but I needed to know.
He shocked me by saying, “Not really. I’ve never had a woman in my loft before. Well, except for my mom or a member of my security team. But I’ve had a few girlfriends, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“And you like to take care of them.”
He rinsed the conditioner from my hair, then helped me lie back in the water again, my head against the tub. He rubbed his lips over mine. “I like to take care of you.”
Moving onto my right hand, he cleaned each finger, then kissed my knuckles and picked the left hand.
Gradually, memory returned. Or to be precise, I allowed myself to think. The last I remembered, Zaq had been cold, withdrawn. “You’re not pissed off at me anymore.”
“I was never pissed off at you.” The washcloth moved down my body to my legs. He cleaned them with the same thoroughness he had my arms and hands, ending with my toes.
“Not true.” I straightened my spine. “Even in the underworld, you acted like I was the enemy.”
And it had hurt, even though I’d told myself it didn’t matter. That I was the cool, pragmatic Reaper, the badass who never needed anyone.
Zaq draped the washcloth over the faucet and took my face in his hands. “I was an asshole. And you’re right, I was pissed off, but at the situation more than you. I’d decided I couldn’t do it anymore, the whole enemies-sex thing with you. It was messing with my head, making me think you were on my side. When you weren’t. But now—” His mouth pulled sideways and he released me.
I grabbed his wrists. “What?”
“You put your life on the line for me. D’you remember telling me? You said you lied to your alpha, that you’re a rogue now.”
“Yeah.” My chest squeezed. Panic slithered through me. “But if I’m not a slayer, what am I?”
