The idea pleased him. The realization smashed hard into his solar plexus. Yet, what about that dangerous female he’d dreamed about for so long? He searched for guilt inside himself and didn’t find any.
Not an ounce.
Either he was a complete ass, or his dreams had gotten it wrong. The woman in the other room was sweet, vulnerable, and kind. The exact opposite of the female he’d tried to find the last many years. And now she was his.
Brushing wet hair away from his face, he strode into the bedroom to see her sprawled out beneath the covers, watching him. “You’re awake.”
Her grin was cute and a bit sleepy. He hadn’t let her get much rest during the night, such was his hunger. He rubbed his chest above his heart. Had he ever felt like this? If so, he didn’t remember it.
She sat, holding the covers to her chest. Whisker burn was visible from her breasts to her neck. He’d have to be more careful with her next time. “So. Am I any good at sex?”
Amusement took him hard. She would ask that question. “You are phenomenal at sex,” he said honestly. His cock hardened beneath the towel, but she had to be sore. He needed to be a decent guy and not a selfish asshat. “Last night meant the world to me.” True story. Protectiveness and something stronger, deeper, washed through him. For her.
Her smile widened, and she shoved her thick hair over her shoulder. “Me too. Although I kind of felt you held back.” Her expression was earnest, and her eyes guileless.
He should feel like a jerk for touching somebody so pure, but he wanted her again already. Of course he’d held back. She was so very breakable. “I didn’t hold back.” That was probably a decent lie, and why worry her? “You were perfect, and I wouldn’t change a thing about last night.” It surprised him that he meant it. Being gentle wasn’t in his nature, but she deserved every kindness and care. It was an old-fashioned thought, but she’d given him a gift the previous night, and he wanted to take care of her.
She shyly pushed the comforter off her legs and twisted her hips. “The marking looked pretty.”
His gaze caught on her hip, where his marking was barely visible. “What the hell?” he whispered, moving for her and shoving the blankets away.
“What?” She craned her neck to see the visibly fading lines.
“It was supposed to stay. Forever.” He scrubbed a rough hand through his wet hair. None of this was making sense, and the branding on his hand pounded with the demand to mark her again.
She paled. “Oh. Because I’m not enhanced.”
There had to be some enhancement, or he wouldn’t have been able to mark her in the first place. He shoved anger down in order to think rationally. “How about I make us breakfast and then we’ll have you checked out by the doctors?” He turned and moved for the other side of the room, searching for his discarded jeans.
She gasped. “Your back.”
He glanced over his shoulder. When he’d undergone the ritual to become one of the Seven, his ribs had been fused together to make his torso impenetrable. While his front looked normal, his back looked like an intricate black tattoo with his ribs showing. “I know. It’s a long—” He caught movement from the corner of his eye and pivoted instinctively.
Pain slashed deep between his shoulder and his neck and then splintered out. He hissed in agony as a blade sliced through his upper arm, removing his shoulder and most of his arm. The blade clattered away on the wooden floor.
He turned, dropping the towel, ready to protect Dessie.
She wasn’t in the bed.
Air swished as she somersaulted toward him, grabbing the knife and rolling up on her feet. Quicker than a snake, she jumped up and jabbed the knife,her knife, toward his throat with all her strength.
He jumped back, and the knife struck him in the thigh as her arm fell. The blade penetrated the flesh and then viciously split it in two, slicing his muscle clean through. Agony speared through him, and his foot went numb. Blood from his artery spurted in every direction. The weapon dropped near his foot. His mind couldn’t take what his eyes were seeing. She was trying to kill him?
Still nude, Dessie dove for the weapon and neatly came up, already striking at him with it. He slapped her away, smacking her hand. What the hell was happening? If that thing hit his neck or throat, it could decapitate him. His left arm was uselessly hanging by a couple of stretching tendons, and his leg was already weakening as he bled out. He sent healing cells to the leg and slid back, his eyes on the woman. “Dessie?” He put command in his voice.
She’d gone white pale, and her eyes were dilated. Her brunette hair was a wild mess around her head, and her teeth were bared. Her nostrils flared as the scent of blood engulfed the room.His blood.She was all graceful instinct, her gaze on his body, searching. For a weakness? Giving a battle cry, she lifted the knife and charged him, jumping on his knee and all but climbing him. The tip of the blade sliced at the base of his throat.
He grabbed her hand and twisted, forcing the knife away from his flesh. Her wrist broke with an audible snap. The knife fell to the floor again.
As if she didn’t feel the break, she fought viciously, kicking and striking, hitting him square in his injuries. She grunted and hissed, a wild woman. As if possessed, she tried to inflict the most possible pain and injury.
He had to get that fucking blade away from her while he still could. Sucking in air, he kicked the knife with his injured leg and hissed as agony ripped up his thigh to his groin. The blade spun around and around across the floor and stuck into the wooden baseboard.
Grunting, she turned to pursue the weapon, spittle flying from her mouth.
Controlled fury rippled through him. His survival instincts were finally taking over from his shocked brain. He snagged her hair and yanked her back, instantly wrapping his good hand around her throat and lifting her into the air. She was facing away from him but kicked back, nailing him in the thigh.
His leg buckled, and he balanced on his good leg, squeezing her windpipe until she clawed her fingernails into his hand. He shook her, trying to evade her back kicks. If he took another blow to his injured thigh, he’d go down.
