“Whathappened?” Muffled and frantic, she couldn’t move. His arms had tightened just short of crushing; plus, even beaten to hell with his clothes reduced to dirt-crusted shreds, something hadn’t changed. He still had a respectable hard-on, and it was shoved right up against her. “Max? Max,talk to me.”
“One moment,puella mea.” The last bit was a little slurred. “None of the blood is mine.”
Are you sure?She’d seen a lot of bravado while hanging out with vampire hunters, but this was in a whole different league. “You look awful. What the hell hap?—”
“Pax, sweet Leila.” At least the near-drunken slurring eased up, though he didn’t let go of her. He’d turned into a statue. “Let me be reassured of my leman.”
Reassured? You absolute asshole. “I’m the one locked up down here if something happens to you.” She couldn’t even wriggle away; the goop on him smelled awful, but the worst was the nasty edge to the thin, curling steam rising from several gaps in his clothing. Had he gotten hit by a car-bomb, like the biter who took out Shawn’s crew? “But I’ll bet you never even thought about that, did?—”
“You have a lovely voice. Keep scolding me.” Did he soundamused?
For fuck’s sake. Now she was sorry she’d been worried, even in the slightest and for only a few heartbeats. The fact that she was about to read a goddamnvampirethe riot act was somewhere between disturbing and justifiable. “You are a jackass.”
“And you are the gift of a goddess, turning me into a man.” He exhaled sharply; his grasp loosened—but only a fraction. “How do you feel?”
How doIfeel?“Like I was left in a prison cell while you went off and did something stupid. I could starve to death down here; do you even care?”
And now she was certifiably nuts. She’d gone from being terrified he’d kill her to being worried about vampire impregnation, to absolutely wanting toshakea big dumb lug who—all things considered—reminded her a bit of Ackerman.
“I told you the seals would release upon my death. Not that you need worry on that count.” He drew himself up and very gently unwound his arms only to take her shoulders, pushing her back a step, two. Then he examined her, his eyes glittering in a mask of crud, his curls full of sticky-looking grit. “How do you feel? Do you thirst? I will feed you, and then?—”
“Oh no you don’t.” Layla tried to pull away, achieved nothing, and settled for glaring up at him through strands of her own hopelessly tangled hair. “You’re not getting me tripped out on monster blood while you’re all covered in guck. Come on, right to cleanup with you. Do you have a first-aid kit?” If he did, it was hidden so well she couldn’t find it; she’d been over every inch of the place.
“Unnecessary.” A short, sharp shake of his head, tiny glittery flakes dropping free of gleaming dark curls, and he let go of her—slowly, one finger at a time. “But very well.”
I am bossing around a two-thousand-year-old biter.How long had he left her down here? “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I found the battlefield, and somewhat more. You may be pleased to know there are many less sanguinant in this city now. Though that is a mercy of short duration, I am afraid.” His boots were scarred but whole, making soft whispering sounds as he turned away, gliding for the bathroom; there was a small cascade of ripping and the ruins of his sweater were torn free. Muscle flickered in his back, deeply defined straps and shapes.
She also spotted glaring, livid stripes under the dirt. Layla’s jaw nearly dropped, and she hurried in the vampire’s wake.
CHAPTER 18
Sanguinant skin shedall manner of filth easily enough; he sacrificed a damp towel to scrubbing and almost wished his leman were a bath attendant with a scraper and a pot of oil. Despite that, modern plumbing was more than worth the lack of such civilized pleasures; the tub was full before he finished the brute work of cleansing.
He would have very much liked to see her in a chiton, bare-limbed and intent upon the work of tending her soldier’s skin. A useless, impossible phantasy, but pleasant nonetheless.
She leaned in the bathroom doorway, watched him scrub caked grit and blood from his hair, and when he tossed the blackened towel upon the pile of spent clothing Leila finally spoke.
“What are those?” One graceful, finely boned hand, pointing. Even the frailty of her wrists was so achingly beautiful; he would have liked to simply stand and gaze in wonder, though she might find such scrutiny unnerving.
“Hm?” He lifted his arm, gazed down at his ribs. Was she concerned for his wellbeing? Unlikely, so she must be merely curious. Still, it was a sign of interest, and deserved a properanswer. “Claws. That one was a fledgling; he forgot to strike a little lower. Silly.”
“You…” She swallowed, hard, pale eyes round. The Gift was burning bright in her, stripping away mortality, burnishing her skin, her hair alive with blue highlights under electric glow. “On your back, too?”
There was no shortage of injuries upon his corpus, most closed solely by force of will at the moment. A hard-won skill, semi-consciously encouraging a sanguinant’s natural healing capability, and one which separated elders who would survive a little longer from those who might more easily fall to glut or killing-sleep.
The stripes would fade over the course of a few feedings, though the marks could be disconcerting at first. “Scratches. I am not of an age to bleed easily.”
“But don’t they hurt?” A child’s question, or simple empathy. She was so very tender, a statue of Hebe the Merciful brought to bright rosy life.
Sometimes pain is best. Judiciously applied, agony could be used to hold off the creeping stony numbness for a short while. Yet too much and the edge was lost, apathy rising despite ever more severe injury. “At first. Not now.”
He was clean enough, the soldier decided. Lowering himself into hot water almost wrung a groan from his throat, perilously close to an old mortal’s noise. A short soak, then he would feed her; he could admit she was correct, it was entirely unfit for a leman to be sullied with the corpse-remnants of several sanguinant and dogsbodies, even if much of the former had burned away into steam and the latter had also served to fuel his combat.
He had drunk deep, conscious of the need to carry sustenance to his prize. And now he also possessed an edge no other living creature knew.
For once, it was enough.
