The scorpion on his throat writhed as he spoke, the stinger appearing to jab him in the jugular. “You take the victim’s pain into yourself when you heal, don’t you?” She nodded, and Thanatos reached out to cup her cheek. “And what about when you kill? Is it the opposite? Do you get off on it?”
“No,” she gasped, jerking away from him, her body trembling. Dear God, how did he… oh, God, he knew. He knew that as horrifying as killing the man had been, there had been an underlying… high. A rush of power so evil it felt as though her soul had been permanently bruised.
She’d never even admitted it to herself. Not really. Not until now.
“Enough.” The warning in Ares’s voice was unmistakable. “She just saved Battle’s life. Now isn’t the time to grill her.” Ares folded her protectively against his chest. “Don’t touch her again, Than.”
“I only meant to help.” Thanatos shoved to his feet and stalked away, and Cara got the impression his feelings were hurt.
“I’m sorry.” She rested her forehead against Ares’s breastbone. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you and your brother.”
“That?” Ares’s palm caressed her back in slow circles. “That was nothing. Relax.” With each slow pass of his hand, she did just that, shoving Thanatos’s question and the ugly truth back into the locked box where she’d kept it for so long. “Are you hungry?” Her stomach rumbled in answer, and he chuckled. “Food it is.”
Huh. Save a man’s horse, and he got all nice. She’d have to remember that, the next time she came up against an immortal warrior-type. Which got her thinking. “Wait.” She pulled back to look at him. “You’re immortal… so do you need to eat?”
“Yes. And sleep. I wouldn’t die from lack of either, but both Battle and I can weaken or rage out.” He frowned. “Speaking of which…” His fingers tugged at the hem of the hockey jersey, lifting it up to expose her abdomen.
“Hey!” She grabbed his wrists before he revealed much more. “What are you doing?”
“Checking the agimortus. Remember that I said it will fade with time?”
Right. It was a virtual hourglass. A big, fat lump of dread plopped into her stomach, and suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. “I’ll do it.” Her hand shook as she hooked the neckline and pulled it out. But she couldn’t bring herself to look down.
Ares knew, and as gently as if her hand were a hummingbird, he eased it away. The rasp of his knuckles was barely a whisper on her skin as he took the hem, but it made her heart beat faster, and when the cool air kissed her br**sts, her pulse went out of control with both trepidation and excitement.
For a long time, he didn’t look. He remained focused on her face, the intensity in his black eyes taking her breath. His lips parted, just barely, and she wondered what he’d do if she leaned in and kissed him.
Abruptly, his gaze dropped. His harsh inhale was the only sound in the room. Even Battle, who had been snorting in the background, went silent. Ares’s lids grew heavy, his nostrils flaring.
“You are magnificent.” His voice was rough, raspy, and she forgot all about the mark that was a countdown to her death.
Ares tugged the shirt down, and with great care, he lifted her. In his arms, she felt small, feminine, and safe. Yes, he had a duty to keep her alive, but all this time it had been about protecting the agimortus, not her. Now she sensed a shift in him, as if he’d suddenly seen the person instead of the object on her chest.
Battle came forward and pressed his forehead into hers.
“You’ve made a hell of an impression,” Ares said, his words still scraping gravel. “Battle hates everyone.” He shouldered the beast out of the way. “Leave her alone, you big lunk.”
“Where are you taking me?”
Ares didn’t spare her a glance as he strode across the room. “To bed.”
The way Cara went taut when Ares announced his intentions was both amusing and insulting. He planned to put her to bed, not bed her. Not that he didn’t want to. The altercation with Pestilence had taken the edge off, but the desire to lose himself in female flesh was still burning like a pitch-soaked torch.
And with Cara in his arms, it wasn’t just any female flesh. He wanted the human even more than before. What she’d done for Battle, knowing the cost to herself and after everything she’d been through recently, earned both his gratitude and his respect. She’d had a hellish introduction to his world, but after a shaky start, she was pulling it together.
How many humans could have accepted as much as she had in so little time? Hell, it had taken Ares decades to come to grips with the reality of the paranormal realm.
Though it was clear that Cara wasn’t as new to it as she wanted to believe. The power she wielded was obviously something she’d been dealing with for a long time, so she’d had an inkling, even if it had been buried, that there was more to life than what most humans knew. And with Battle out of danger, he was curious about the human she’d killed.
But he couldn’t ask about it now. She was too weakened from the healing, and she would have enough to deal with when she discovered that the agimortus had faded. Just a shade, but when every change was another shovelful of grave dirt, it was a blow.
He’d covered his reaction, had let himself admire her perfect br**sts, her flawless skin, her narrow waist, and in a heartbeat, he’d felt a wrenching reversal in his emotions. It shouldn’t have happened—he’d cut himself off from tender feelings a long time ago. But something about this woman was hell on his instincts, and he liked it as much as he cursed it.
Caring about her would be stupid. Either she was going to die soon, or she’d transfer the agimortus and still die. If Pestilence learned that Ares cared about her even a little, he’d kill her solely to cause Ares pain. Besides, just being close to her was a drain on his strength and senses, so what would full-on sex do?
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m going to do nothing more threatening than tuck you in.” He scowled at the blood on her hands, arms, and legs. “You stained my jersey.”
She sniffed. “With your horse’s blood.”
“You have my thanks. And Battle’s heart, I think,” he added wryly.
Her fragile smile made his own heart skip a beat. Pale and exhausted as she was, she was still beautiful, and her weight felt good in his arms.
Fierce admiration swelled in his chest as he set her gently on the bed. He could admire her without caring about her, right? But the way he’d torn into Thanatos, telling him to never touch her again, had nothing to do with admiration. He’d hated the sight of Than’s hand on her, and Ares, who had never been jealous in his life, had wanted to rip his brother apart.
Yeah, this woman was definitely hell on his senses.
“Do you want to clean up?” he asked, anxious to get her settled in so he could get out of here.
She practically purred. “I would never turn down an opportunity to use your amazing shower.”
“You can use it whenever you want,” Ares said, his voice hoarse, because now he was picturing Cara there. Naked. Soap suds streaming in bubbly tendrils over her br**sts, stomach, thighs… that private place between.
“Don’t say that. I might just move into it.” Once again, her smile did bizarre things to his insides. And outsides. This was bad. “And I like it when you smile. You don’t do it often, do you?”
He didn’t like that she’d ascertained that about him, even though it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see it. “I haven’t had much to laugh about since I learned I wasn’t human,” he said simply. Even before that, he’d been intense, at ease only with his sons and brother.
“How long has that been?”
“Five thousand years. Give or take a couple of centuries.”
Her eyes shot wide, giving him another rare laugh. “You don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”
“It’s my healthy lifestyle,” he said lightly, because oddly, this conversation with her was the most normal thing that had happened to him in what seemed like forever. Usually females wanted one thing from him, and it wasn’t talk. When they did talk, either it was to heap praise on him in a suck-up-fest, or they wanted to hear about his exploits. They didn’t want to hear about him.
“Well, sign me up.” She shifted on the bed. “Why are there no pillows?”
“Comfort makes a man soft.”
“Hmm. I’d think comfort would make a man happy. You should try it.”
She was teasing him, and he experienced the strangest euphoric feeling inside. It felt good, the way he felt after downing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, but without the loss of clarity. “So all I’m missing from life is a pillow?”
“Hardly.” She patted the mattress. “You could use a softer bed, too.” Before he could comment, not that he knew what to say about this female suddenly wanting to take over his bedroom, she gestured to the dresser. “Can I borrow another shirt from you?”
Hell, yeah, he wanted her to wear his clothes. There was something incredibly sexy about her wrapped in his clothing. But she needed more than his oversized T-shirts and sweats that would have to be duct-taped around her waist. “While you’re showering, I’ll pick up some things from your house.”
“Thank you.” She stood, swayed, and plopped back down on the mattress. “A little woozy.”
Guilt wasn’t something he felt often, but now it moved in and made itself at home like an unwanted roommate. Sort of like what she was doing. “Hold off on the shower. I’ll bring warm water and a washcloth.”
“And give me a sponge bath?” Cara graced him with a yeah, right look. “I don’t think so. If I get dizzy, there are plenty of places to sit in there.”
True, half the shower was lined with heated benches set into the marble. He sometimes turned on the steam and the stereo and lounged in there for hours. Cara could easily wash while sitting down. And there he went, picturing it.