“It was hardly that simple.” Sabelle sends him a reproving glance. Then she smiles. “But he did.”
I have no idea what they’re on about. “We have to assume Mathias intends to use the Untouchable to make himself invincible against the Doomsday Brethren…or he’s worried we’ll find her first and wield her to render him impotent.”
“Either possibility is terrifying.” Sabelle shakes her head. “Let me take it up with Bram when he returns. But no matter what, this record of the Untouchable must be protected.”
“Where is he now?” Raiden demands.
“My brother left with Duke, Ice, and Marrok an hour ago. Said something about solving a mystery. Hopefully, he’ll return soon.”
Raiden rubs a hand across his forehead. “When he does, tell him to find me.”
Sabelle shrugs. “Of course. Perhaps we should send word to Shock that the Untouchable family tree is now in the Doomsday Brethren’s possession.”
“To test the bastard’s loyalties?”
“That’s one side effect, but mostly to see what Mathias does next. That could tell us a great deal about his plans.”
Indeed. And once Mathias knows, that might lift his threat against me. He would have no further cause to hunt me, right? Then Raiden can hand me off to Sean Blackbourne and end all responsibility for my safety or well-being.
Sabelle sends me a sharp stare, complete with a raised brow. That one expression tells me she’s convinced that will never happen. Of course she thinks that; she believes Ronan. She thinks Raiden loves me.
“No.” He plucks up the page with the family tree and grabs my hand. “Absolutely not. Come with me, Tabby.”
Because he’s determined to find the Untouchable before Mathias? Or because he can’t yet bear to let me go?
I’d love to believe he’s clinging because he cares. Because he yearns to keep me for another night. A whole night. Not merely long enough to make love to me. Not simply to comfort me after a staggering loss or to shield me from more danger. But because he needs me with him, from sunset to sunrise, in his arms, in his bed. His.
But that kind of wishful thinking got me pregnant and abandoned in the first place.
Still, I don’t fight as he leads me deeper into the caves, his grip tight. A glance back at Sabelle shows an amused smile curling the corners of her lips.
Moments later, Raiden reaches a door and ushers me inside. The space smells like him. I see evidence he’s stayed here—empty coffee mugs, discarded shirts with bloodstains and sweat, the drapes closed tight against the outside, just like his eyes—the windows to his soul.
He sighs. “Sorry. I know you’re used to better. Your father provided for your family admirably. This cave is strictly temporary and?—”
I don’t care about fancy right now. “A bed! I’m exhausted. Is there a shower as well?”
He points the way, and I close the door between us.
Twenty minutes later, I emerge in a cloud of steam, dressed in the black robe I found hanging on the back of the door. The sleeves fall past my hands, and the hem drags the ground, but it’s clean…except Raiden’s faint scent that clings.
I clap eyes on him, prepared to ask if Sabelle would lend me something to wear so I don’t have to dress in the same clothes I wore when my family was killed.
Then I see Raiden’s face. His gaze pins me, raw and wanting and barely restrained. The question dies on my lips.
He looks as if he’s spent every second of my shower listening to the water sluicing over my naked skin while fighting the urge to break down the door and ravish me. Desire is the one thing Raiden has never been shy about, never tried to hide.
The need on his face hits me hard. An answering ping makes everything between my thighs clench.
I swallow. “Raiden?”
His stare doesn’t waver as he rises from the bed, crosses the room, and takes my shoulders in his grip. “Tabby. I should leave you be. Turn around. Walk away.”
Since I don’t belong to him and never will. Right. “So…what? Now that you know what Mathias sought, are you taking me to Sean?”
“That would be the honorable thing to do…” He scoffs. “No one’s ever accused me of being honorable before, but I must. For you.” He drops a hand to the gentle swell of my abdomen. “For the youngling. I’m not mate material.”
“You could be,” I argue.
