“Speak,” he said.
Somehow, she closed her lips together even tighter, creating patches of pale skin around her mouth as the blood was forced away from her lips.
Tenthil could not suppress a growl now—it rumbled up from his chest, vibrating like hot gravel in his throat, and flowed out through his bared fangs. “I will not be ignored.”
She swung her fiery gaze to meet his. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?”
It took a moment for her words to sink in, for him to understand.
This is what I have been doing to her.
He couldn’t argue her point, but it was only as she held his gaze, her anger unwavering, that something within him shifted and snuffed out the agitated fire in his gut.
Whatever his reasons—whether it had been result of his upbringing, his training, or his personality—he’d done this to her. This was how he’d made her feel by refusing to answer her questions. She would not like the answers he had to give, but if he wanted her trust, he needed to be honest. He needed to be open.
Could he do that? Was he fully capable of it, after so many years of the Master’s influence?
“It doesn’t,” he said through his teeth.
“Good. Now you understand one of the many reasons why I’m pissed at you.”
He drew back slightly, eyes widening.
She grasped his wrist and tugged it down, breaking his hold on her chin. “If I need to elaborate, you’re pretty damn oblivious to your own behavior.”
Tenthil was aware of his actions, even those motivated purely by instinct; everything he’d done since breaking into Cullion’s manor had been for her. “I’m protecting you.”
“You’re keeping me captive, Tenthil.”
“Protecting you. From yourself.”
This time, she drew back, her brows falling low over her narrowed eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t know Arthos. Don’t know the people. It is too dangerous.”
“I don’t see what’s dangerous about bringing me to my own people.”
“This is a city of infinite secrets, Abella.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her hair. “I will tell you more. But not here.”
She stared at him silently for a moment, jaw ticking again, and nodded.
He extended his left arm and gestured for Abella to come closer. Her frown deepened, but she stepped forward and nestled herself against his side. Tenthil settled his arm over her shoulders.
“Can you at least tell me why we have to walk everywhere like this?” she asked as they turned and moved back to the street.
“To shield you from cameras,” he replied.
“What do you mean? You’re big, but you’re not that big.”
The answer was yet another secret the Master never wanted revealed, but the Master’s wishes no longer mattered to Tenthil.
“I can alter my bioelectrical field. Obscure myself from recordings.”
“Is that like…some kind of cyborg thing or something?”
He scanned the crowd as they walked, careful to keep their pace steady and casual despite his urge to get to their next destination as quickly as possible. “No. Bioengineering.”
“Okay… I’m not dumb, but I went to a performing arts school for dancing. Science and technology weren’t exactly my areas of interest. Are you saying you were made in a tube or something?”
Tenthil drew in a deep breath through his nose. Her scent was on the air, strengthened by her nearness, but there were hundreds more smells all around, and now it was the smell of cooking food that caught his attention. He altered their course again, angling toward one of the many food vendors set up along the sides of the street. It had been a long while since they’d eaten, and he needed to ensure his mate was provided for—with something more than the bland, pre-packaged meals they’d been living on.
“No. I was born,” he replied. “But I was…changed, as a child. I look like one of my kind, but I am different inside.”
“Why would you do that to yourself?”
“I didn’t.”
He felt her slight resistance as her steps faltered, and he slowed to accommodate her.
“Someone else did?” she asked. “Why?”
“To make me what I am.” Tenthil brought them to a stop at the end of the short line for one of the booths. Aromatic meats and vegetables roasted and fried in the booth, which was tended by two tall, multi-armed dacrethians. Tenthil kept his arm around Abella, holding her close.
It was a dangerous thing to draw such comfort from her nearness, to find such joy in her warmth, to have allowed himself to become so attached to her in so short a time, but he was helpless when it came to her.
“Was it…that man?” Abella asked. “The one from the hologram?”
Tenthil’s hold on her tightened involuntarily. He nodded.
She frowned and reached up to brush the tips of her fingers over the scar on his cheek. “Did he do this, too?”
Tenthil’s chest constricted. He clenched his jaw and nodded again. Her touch had no right feeling that good, not there. Her fingers lingered, lightly stroking the scar tissue; when he glanced down at her, there was a sorrowful, troubled gleam in her eyes.
Abella lowered her hand. “Why would he do that?”
The person in front of them completed her order and moved aside. Tenthil stepped up to the window, grateful for the interruption. He pointed to the food he wanted on the flickering holo-menu and paid the female volturian who was taking the orders, using one of the untraceable credit chips from the safehouse. Once he’d paid, he walked Abella to the next window to await their food.
He felt Abella’s eyes on him, felt her expectation, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more—not here, not now. She must’ve seen it on his face when he met her gaze, because she nodded slightly and turned to watch the dacrethians cook.
When their food was served up, he handed the first container to her and took the second in his free hand. They continued walking along the street, following Tenthil’s mental map toward one of the few places in the city Tenthil knew that wasn’t under the Master’s constant vigil.
Abella brought the container to her nose and sniffed the steam rising from it. She groaned low and deep; sound went right to Tenthil’s cock.
“This smells so good,” she said
“Eat.” Tenthil raised his container and tore off a bite of meat. He’d rarely had the pleasure of a hot meal—had rarely taken pleasure in food at all—and this tasted better than anything he’d ever had.
Apart from Abella; her taste would forever be his favorite.
He watched her while he chewed. She devoured the food, occasionally bumping his abdomen with her elbow as she took successive bites; she ate like she’d been starving.
She was thinner when I took her from Cullion’s than she was at the club.
Had the circumstances been less chaotic, he would’ve taken more time to consider her state when he saved her. Abella had been slim to begin with; for there to have been noticeable difference in her weight after only seven days meant she’d gone hungry during his period of cowardice and indecision.
Guilt burned in his chest like acid. Her suffering was his failing.
Never again.
She licked her fingers. “So, where are we going?”
He swallowed another bite of food and ran his tongue over his fangs, which were coated in sweet venom—as they seemed to be almost every time she was near.
“A safe place to sleep,” he replied. The burning pain in his throat was more pronounced now than ever; he’d spoken more in the last two days than in the twenty-five years prior, it seemed.
Abella’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Wasn’t the last place safe enough?”
He dipped his chin. “Safer. But more resources here.”
“Will they…find us?”
“Not if we are careful.” He tightened his arm around her. “I’ll keep you safe, Abella.”
Tenthil slipped the masterkey
into his belt pouch and preceded Abella through the open door, his blaster at the ready. She kept close behind him, one hand on his shoulder, as he swept the apartment. Fortunately, it was still empty. This was one of only a handful of locations he’d been able to recall that wouldn’t be on the Order’s list of obvious places to search.
The apartment was similar in size to the safehouse in which they’d been attacked; here, the larger entry room was a combination living space and kitchen, while the bed had its own room in the back with an adjoined bathroom. Where the safehouse had minimal, purely functional furnishings, this place seemed like somewhere a person lived—which had been the case until a few months ago—with random trinkets scattered about and a few pieces of holographic wall art on display.
After closing and locking the door, he turned to Abella, who stood in the center of the main room studying her new surroundings. The apartment was by no means luxurious, but it would suit their needs. The automated cleaning bot had apparently done its job keeping the place neat despite the permanent absence of the apartment’s resident.
“How long are we going to stay here?” Abella asked, looking at him over her shoulder.
“As long as necessary.”
She nodded and faced forward again, raising her hands to remove her cloak. She stepped farther into the room and draped the cloak over the back of a chair in the kitchen. “Is this another safehouse?”
Tenthil walked to the other chair and shrugged off his cloak, folding it in half over his arm before setting it down. “No. Belonged to a target.”
She stilled for a moment, then shook her head as she muttered, “Guess sleeping in a dead guy’s apartment is still better than Cullion’s place.” She frowned and looked back at him. “How many people have you killed?”
He held her gaze but offered no answer; he didn’t have one.
“Stupid question, huh? I don’t think I even want to know.” She ran her fingers through her hair and bit her lower lip. “Can you at least tell me if you enjoy it?”
“Only once.”
“Once?”
Tenthil nodded, moved to the sink, and brushed the back of his hand over the fixture. Steaming water flowed from the faucet. “Cullion.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t feel much, otherwise.” He shut off the sink and turned to face her; her eyes were locked on him, her head tilted slightly, but he couldn’t read her expression, couldn’t guess at her thoughts. “There’s hot water, and a shower in back.”
Abella’s eyes rounded, her lips parted, and her brows rose high. “A shower? Really?”
He nodded, unable to keep the corner of his mouth from tilting up. “Go.”
Her black and blue hair fanned around her shoulders as she spun away from him and darted through the bedroom door.
A few moments later, the water in the bathroom came on, followed by Abella’s voice. “Oh, my God, yes!”
Tenthil’s chest swelled with sudden, unexpected pride. That so simple a thing as a hot shower could elicit such joy in her was a wonder—and he had been the catalyst for her joy. Knowing he’d brought her some happiness, no matter how small and fleeting, brought Tenthil a sense of satisfaction he’d never experienced. He walked to the bedroom doorway and leaned against the inside of the frame, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.
Deep within his oldest, dimmest memories were a few exchanges between his parents, quiet moments that had, until now, seemed inconsequential to him. He remembered his mother giving his father a new satchel she had stitched together of hide and sinew, one with little patterns pressed into its flap, and the contentment on his father’s face—and the pride on his mother’s. Or when his father had brought home large bundle of tiny, purple flowers after a long hunt and handed them to Tenthil’s mother—they were the kind she’d used to make her favorite dye. They’d looked at one another as though they saw no one else in the world.
Tenthil understood something new now, something he’d not realized before, something he would never have realized without Abella—he could derive joy from his mate’s pleasure. Making her happy made him feel happy…and that was not an emotion with which he was very familiar.
He opened his eyes at the sound of her footsteps. She appeared in the bathroom doorway, caught his gaze, grinned, and closed the door.
Tenthil’s heart skipped a beat; this was the first smile he’d seen from her since they danced in Twisted Nethers, and he’d forgotten how radiant, how infectious, it was. Its warmth pierced his chest and spread throughout his body; he couldn’t help but grin himself.
Perhaps I have a chance of making her happy, after all.
A new sound drifted to him from the bathroom despite the muffling effect of the closed door—the gentle rustling of fabric. It was followed by a change in the tone of the falling water; Abella had stepped into the shower stall.
She released a long, low moan.
The pleasure in her voice shifted Tenthil’s mind in a different direction—was that how she would sound when he mated with her? He had seen her naked body while she was unconscious in the safehouse, but he’d somehow managed to keep focused on treating her wounds. Now, he could not help but imagine the water cascading over her bare skin, dripping from the tips of her small, pink nipples, and trickling over her mound and toned thighs.
He grunted against the ache as his cock went erect, dropping a hand to his groin to grasp his throbbing shaft through his pants. How long had it been since his last release? Time had lost much of its meaning in Abella’s company; days had passed, perhaps. Not that his own hand would provide much relief. Anything he did for himself would be hollow, meaningless, unfulfilling. The treatment of a symptom rather than the cause.
He needed her.
Forcing his hand up, he walked into the bedroom, slid off the backpack, and set it beside him as he sat on the edge of the bed. Once he’d removed his boots and set them aside, he tugged his shirt off over his head, tossing it next to the backpack. The caress of cool air against his bare skin did nothing to ease the desire burning in his veins. He curled his hands into fists and rested them atop his thighs, bowing his head.
I can focus past this. I am in control of myself.
Another sound came from beyond the bathroom door—music. His mate was singing.
Tenthil raised his head to stare at the door, his ears twitching as the song dipped low and soft—so soft that he had difficulty hearing it through the barrier and over the falling water. Without meaning to, he stood up and drifted to the bathroom, his mind clouded in a haze created by the allure of his mate’s sweet voice.
He leaned forward, pressing a hand and an ear to the door. Her voice steadily increased in volume as she continued singing. Despite his translator granting him knowledge of each individual word, he couldn’t quite understand their meaning when strung together in song, but he didn’t care—because she was singing, and it was beautiful, especially after her long period of silence.
Her song changed several times as he listened over fifteen or twenty minutes, each bearing its own tune, rhythm, and lyrics, but her voice remained constant; she sounded carefree. Happy.
This is how I want her to sound always.
Even when she turned the water off, Tenthil could not bring himself to move away from the door. Her words gave way to pleasant humming, as pure and entrancing as her singing had been. He curled his fingers against the door; he would never allow the Master to silence her. Would never allow this world—or any other—to take her from him.
The click of the interior handle was his only warning before the door opened, granting him a split second to straighten. Abella gasped and froze in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, staring up at him in surprise.
Tenthil’s swept his gaze over her. Her pale skin bore a healthy, pink flush, and her dark hair hung wet around her shoulders, its tips beaded with water droplets. She was clad only in an old towel, which was wrapped around her torso; it revealed the tops of her breasts and ended mi
d-thigh to showcase her long legs.
That single glance was more than enough to rekindle Tenthil’s desire. It roared to life inside him, swirling in a firestorm to suffuse his entire body.
“Were you, um, standing outside the door this whole time?” Abella asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
He took a step forward, eliminating the space between them. Abella did not retreat; she simply tilted her head back to keep her eyes locked on his. The warm, humid air inside the bathroom only served to strengthen her scent, which enveloped him and added a lustful note to the lingering haze in his mind.
Tenthil lifted a hand and brushed the back of his finger over her cheek. A shuddering breath escaped her. He trailed his finger lower, following the delicate curve of her jaw, tracing the graceful line of her neck, flowing over the gentle swell of her breasts. She shivered, her breasts straining against the towel. His eyes followed where he touched; he was spellbound by her body’s responses, enthralled by her scent, enraptured by her feel.
He met her gaze. Desire burned within the green depths of her eyes.
His body tensed, and he clenched his teeth. Instinct roared within him to take her, to mount her, to rut her, to make her his.
“Tenthil…”
Though she spoke only his name, her voice said infinitely more, rich with her every secret.
In a rush of movement, he curved his hands around Abella’s ass, grasped the backs of her thighs, and lifted her off the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist and plunged her fingers into his hair. Her blunt nails grazed his scalp. In three quick strides, he carried her into the bathroom and pressed her back against the wall, his mouth slanting over hers to claim her lips in a savage kiss.
Tenthil groaned in surprise when her tongue flicked past his lips to stroke his tongue; her sweetness filled his mouth, and he delved deeper, seeking more. He ground his cock against the juncture of her thighs. She tightened her grip on his hair and moaned, undulating her pelvis against him in return. Intense pleasure swept through him. His claws lengthened, and he snarled against her mouth as shudders wracked his body. Her heat pulsed into him through his pants, and the scent of her desire, thick and arousing, flooded his senses, pairing with her taste sent him over the edge.
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