My Darkest Passion (28 page)
Now, he was back to his usual perfect human appearance, all glossy black hair, brown skin, and soulful dark, dark eyes. Considering what he’d been through, he looked good. In fact, despite the congealed blood in his hair, he looked fantastic.
“That suit’s got to go,” she said.
He glanced at his chest and touched the shredded fabric over his heart. “Agreed.”
She wasn’t siphoning away his pain any more. That seemed to have resolved not long after he’d finished the last burger. Protein was magic stuff. If she’d paid more attention to what Kynan had been trying to stuff into her head, she’d have known she needed to get him food a lot sooner.
“This room is depressing,” he said.
“We can’t afford cheerful and uplifting.” He was right, though. Everything about the room was dreary, from the colors to the tiny, tired bathroom, to the arrangement of the furniture.
“We could be in a suite with a view of the ocean right now.”
“We’re a cash-only affair right now. As long as there are four extra people to worry about with just our cash on-hand, downscale is my mantra. Sorry.”
He shuddered, but he was faking it. Mostly.
“Go take a shower.”
He leaned against the door. Could he be any more gorgeous? He smiled like he knew what she was thinking. Maybe he did. She sometimes forgot to block, and, as she was discovering, the oath between them made their psychic connections all the more intense. “Best to let things settle a bit. We don’t know who else may have noticed we’re here. Which, I might add, we could as easily do in a suite as in this dump.”
She lifted her hand and rubbed her thumb against her other fingers. “No moolah.”
“There are banks here and money I can access with only a little trouble.” Harsh pushed off the door and started proofing the room, setting wards that would warn them of the presence of any of the magekind. A mageheld might not set off an offensive warning, but they would know if anyone was trying to get in.
She plopped down on a hard plastic chair and grabbed one of the protein bars from the duffle she’d shoved them in and ate it. Tasted like old dirt, but she felt better almost immediately. She followed that with a swig from the water bottle.
“So,” she said, legs stretched out. The oath vibrated between them, and it felt so right, having this connection with him and the other demons. “How long have you been a mage?”
He didn’t stop his work. His shoulders were broad, and she couldn’t help remembering what he looked like naked. “I have never been a mage.”
“Sorry, but that’s bull.” Her stomach growled despite her just having eaten. How long since they ate those burgers and fries? Too long ago, she thought. Especially for him. She eyed the plastic bag on the floor. If she ate another protein bar, they would be officially getting low on them. As long as he was still healing, he needed them more than she did. “It doesn’t change anything. No matter who tries to kill you next, I won’t let anything happen to you. I will get you back to Nikodemus.”
“Thank you.” The two words were flat as pancakes.
She replied in her best airport announcer voice. “You’re so very welcome.”
He turned his head toward her and she got a flash of one unnaturally colored eye. Magenta and sunflower yellow. He went back to work.
“Mages are a trigger for me.”
“I know that. But I am not a mage.” He’d already worked his way around the room and was, at present, concentrating on the window with its view of concrete and verges planted with ornamental garlic.
This was Harsh Marit. Even while she was on her own in San Diego, before and after Kynan, she’d known Harsh wasn’t ordinary even among his own kind. From the start, she’d understood that. She knew enough now to understand that a warlord like Nikodemus didn’t hand over that kind of responsibility just because. When he was done he turned around. He didn’t bother ramping down.
“The oath can be broken if what I am is an issue for you.” He shrugged. “It might destroy the bond all on its own, given your issues with mages.”
She leaned forward on her chair. “Harsh.” She rapped out his name, and that got a raised eyebrow from him. “What you are is not a problem for me.”
“You are lying, Addison.”
“I have issues with mages and you have all these mage-ish qualities, true. But that isn’t the problem.”
“I appreciate the clarification.”
She thought about forcing the issue and didn’t. But they needed to be okay and right now they weren’t. “I trust you. So you have some of the same qualities as the magekind. Big deal.”
“You react to that.”
“Yeah, but I don’t care about that.”
“What do you care about?”
“I killed three mages tonight. Last night. Whenever it was. When we get to San Francisco, am I going to be in trouble for that?”
“We were attacked.” Color swirled in his eyes: saffron, magenta, and crimson. No mage had eyes like that.
“I’m not sorry they’re dead.”
“I’m shocked.”
“Try to bear up.”
“I underestimated you.” He put his hands on his hips. “I apologize.”
She waved that off.
“Three mages dead, all of them from long distance. You couldn’t have had visual for all three.”
“Had to be done.”
“Not many warlords could have done that.” He dropped his head back and drew in a deep breath, and she waited him out. “It’s like something came loose,” he said. “When the car went over and I left physical form. I shouldn’t have any trouble locking it away. The other magic. And I can’t. Most of it, but not all. Not yet.”
“I told you. I’m okay with it.” She nudged the bag of protein bars until she hooked one of the handles over the toe of her shoe. “Hungry?”
“Yes.”
She grabbed the bag and dug inside. “Three enough?”
He took them from her. “For now. Then a shower.” He unwrapped one and took a bite. She handed him the water. “Thanks.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I was eight when I became aware I possessed unusual abilities. My adoptive parents were minor magekind themselves, but they were adamant that I do nothing with those abilities.” He ate half the bar. “I later drew my own conclusions about what it meant that I’d been adopted into a family like that.”
“I guess that doesn’t happen with too many demons.”
“More often than you’d think. Those of us born to humans don’t manifest power until our early twenties. Long after the magekind have tested their children and either slotted them for training or sent them away.” The other half of the bar met the fate of the first. “My mother taught me to wall off my talents, such as they were. They believed my magic would atrophy and that, eventually, I wouldn’t need to block off the magic. I would be as close to a mundane human as possible. Like them.”
“How’d that work out?”
“They meant well.” He opened another of the bars and ate that, too. In between he took sips of water. “They believed it would be easier for me if I had no power at all. From what I understand, they weren’t wrong. The magekind have little respect, and some rather unpleasant uses, for humans with small amounts of magic.” He fell quiet for a time. “In their own way, they were protecting me.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? They weren’t nut cases, were they?”
A grin flashed around his mouth. “Not much.”
“What more can you ask of parents except that they do their best?”
“As you did.”
She looked away. She wasn’t a parent. By choice.
“I have always needed to block the magic. I passed for normal. Went to medical school, for God’s sake. Until I manifested as kin, I’d convinced myself I was normal.”
“And?”
“When it happened, I was fortunate, I thought, to encounter others like me.” He opened and ate half the third bar. “If I’d been raised by kin, or if they’d known about me, someone would have made contact or already have been in contact years before. Instead, I ended up mageheld shortly afterward.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s over now.” He stood up and moved past her to throw the protein bar wrappers in the trash. While his back was to her, he said, “What did Kynan tell you about Maddy Winters?”
Maddy was one of those subjects she was pretty sure Kynan wouldn’t want her discussing with anyone else, so she kept her answer to the minimum. “She’s a witch, sworn to Nikodemus, who works with what she calls wilders. Humans with magic, who didn’t pass that test or who just developed abilities later in life. Freaks and geeks, Kynan called them.”
He faced her, and emptied the pockets of his suit jacket before he took it off and dropped it in the trash can. “Some of them are like me.”
“I’m guessing you don’t mean tall, dark, and handsome?”
For a nanosecond the air was charged with all the sexual ways to interpret that. Short, brief, hot. It took her breath, and then the moment was gone. She’d never meant to make him feel like she was pushing for a relationship and here she’d put the subject front and center.
“Some of her wilders are genetic hybrids.” He peeled away his blood-soaked shirt and dropped it in the trash, too. “Like me.”
“More where you came from, huh?”
“Yes.”
The gashes in his chest were sealed now. “He got you good.”
He glanced at his bare torso and contorted to look at his shoulder. “Doesn’t hurt as much as it did. For a while I was thinking of sending you after some opiates.” He put a hand to his shoulder and rotated it, then sat on the edge of the bed again.
There was one bed in the room.
Right. Who cared? Harsh didn’t need to sleep and she barely did.
He removed his shoes and socks and tossed them into the garbage along with his shoes. “Which bag has my other clothes in it?”
She handed it over. No pressure. She was not going to pressure Harsh into anything.
“And now, a shower.” He cocked his head. “You coming?”
T
he water went on in the bathroom, and she wasn’t all that fine with being alone, actually. He’d invited her to join him, and she wanted to. But she couldn’t get things straight in her head. Nikodemus had told her not to deny the newly sworn physical contact if they needed it. But this oath thing, he hadn’t wanted that.
She stared at the open door. Was she going to sit here being all martyr-ish with guilt? Harsh hadn’t turned into a mindless lackey. He’d told her plain enough that he was fine with this outcome. And he had invited her into the shower. If he had a problem, he’d let her know.
On her way to the bathroom, she grabbed the toiletries she’d bought what now seemed like a lifetime ago. Hairbrush, comb, toothbrushes, toothpaste. Cheap shampoo and conditioner, a bar of peppermint soap. That brought back memories. How had she not understood the significance of that purchase when she made it?
No surprise, the bathroom was small and as decoratively sad as the bedroom. Harsh faced the showerhead with steam wafting toward the ceiling and fogging the mirror. Luckily, the shower was also a tub so there was room for them both. She stripped down and folded her clothes next to his boxers and change of clothes. When she closed the shower door after herself and put down the soap and shampoo, she gave him a pat on the back and slid around in front of him. He’d already washed his hair with the hotel supplies.
He tipped his head back, and she was caught by the way the water ran through his black hair; the color and texture of his skin. Brown skin. The fading gashes across his chest were concentrated at the middle of his upper torso. One of them went from mid-sternum to his left shoulder. More than one of the furrows in his skin had been deep enough to scrape bone. The top of his shoulder was healed. Not a mark left. Another hour and the places where he’d been gouged would be little more than dark pink lines. In two hours, they’d be gone completely.
She picked up the soap she’d brought in with her, grabbed a washcloth, and turned him around to scrub his back. She had to work to achieve the calm that was so natural for him, but she managed. Pink, soapy water swirled around their feet. They had a low-level connection going, no big deal.
His body was bigger than she remembered, though maybe that impression was an artifact of the space being so small. She stretched to reach the top of his shoulders. He put his hands out on either side of him, one on the tile wall, the other on the shower door. Touch was good. No kin should be isolated, and not at a time like this, when it was so helpful not to be alone.
Without hesitation, she moved downward with the washcloth—lower back, the curve of his ass. Bodies were bodies, even when the one she was touching was Harsh’s. His muscle definition was astonishing. She knew that had a lot to do with his rank among the kin, but she couldn’t help but appreciate the perfection. Two years ago, she’d never have been able to guess he wasn’t human. Two years ago, of course, she hadn’t been interested in older men and Harsh Marit would have left her strictly alone. Two years ago the world was different.
When she was done washing the parts of him she could reach while standing behind him, she tapped him so he’d face her. Washcloth and soap in hand, she looked up. His eyes were closed, but she smiled anyway. He was at least a head taller than her, and he was naked and about as physically perfect as a human man could look.
“Addison.” He didn’t move, other than to speak. “You are thinking too hard.”
“I can’t help it.” How was she supposed to separate her sexual attraction to him from all the rest? She set her hand on his chest. “I want to do what’s right. What’s best. Right now, I’m conflicted.”
Slowly, he opened his eyes, and that deep, deep brown was nowhere in evidence. His eyes were an intense, bright, bold yellow. He let out a sound that could have been a laugh. His arms stayed extended, and he kept looking at her, and she was definitely attracted. Big. So dark compared to her. Not human. Not holding anything back.
She soaped up the washcloth again and went back to what she’d come here to do, which was to be with him when he needed contact, psychic and physical. “I’m trying to be noble. You’re not making it easy.”
“Life is not easy,” he said. “You may have noticed.”
“Yeah. I guess I did notice. But hey, we have this great hotel room, and I’m thankful.”
