by DB Reynolds
“I’m back,” she said breathlessly. “Can you swing your legs this way?”
He could, but it was going to hurt like hell. Clenching his jaw against the pain, he gripped his sword with one hand and the door frame with the other, then pulled himself away from the seat and swung first one foot then the next out onto the ground. Grace backed away to give him room, but leaned over to rest her hands on his knees in a gesture of both support and comfort. He could feel the warmth of her hands through the thick cloth of his pants, which told him just how cold and drained of energy his body must be. Normally, he was the one giving warmth, not the other way around.
“Come on, big guy,” she said, taking his arm and urging him to stand. “I won’t let you fall.”
A laugh escaped his lips. He couldn’t help it. The idea that she could support his dead weight, which had to be twice hers . . .
“Be nice, or I’ll dump you here and leave you for the sea gulls.”
“Nasty birds,” he grunted, forcing himself to his feet, and hanging on to the door as his head spun viciously.
“You know gulls?”
“Something much like them haunted the ramparts of Nico’s home, despite his distance from the sea. One had to admire their fortitude in getting there, but not the shit they dropped everywhere.”
It was Grace’s turn to laugh, as she tucked her shoulder under his arm and got him moving. “Nice to know some things never change.”
“But why’d it have to be gulls and their shit?”
They were through the curtain wall and heading for the open front door, which seemed to grow more distant with every step. He was worse off than he’d thought. The low levels of magic in this world were making his recovery far more difficult.
“A few more steps.” Grace’s coaxing voice barely penetrated the storm of his thoughts, a grayed-out whirlwind of the past—the glory of battle next to his brothers, the excess of celebrations after, the women, the food and wine shared among them all, and the quiet times when just the five of them would gather together.
“Here you go.”
Grace’s voice. He was mindful enough to drop his blade onto the floor, and then he was falling, but only a few feet to the soft cushions of her mother’s sofa. His eyelids cracked open enough to see a different sort of gray, the foggy sky over the dark water beyond the windows. Calm stole over him as Grace slid the glass door open, and the briny scent of the ocean hit his senses, along with the faint moisture of the cool, salt air.
“It’s cold, but I figured you’d want fresh air.” She sat next to him, and he didn’t say anything, just took her hand in his with a relieved sigh. Grace scooted closer, settling herself right up against his side, but for only a moment before she bolted upright.
“Does it hurt if I do that?”
Kato smiled and tugged her back down. “It hurts far worse if you don’t.”
“Oh.”
His eyes were still closed, so he couldn’t see her face, but he heard the surprised pleasure in that one word, as she settled against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He slid to one side, taking them both down to lie on the sofa. And they must have dozed off then. Not for long, but enough time had passed that the pale splash of sunlight behind the fog was visibly lower than it had been.
“We should eat something.” Her voice was soft and slumberous, and it made Kato want to do something other than eat . . . food, that was.
“It’s necessary,” he agreed.
She lifted her head from his shoulder and slowly swung her legs to the floor. “Let me check the fridge. I know there’s steak in the freezer, but let me see if there’s something easier for tonight.”
About the only word of all those that made sense to Kato was “steak.” So he left the dinner decisions to Grace, reluctantly freeing her hand when she stood and walked around the sofa, into the kitchen.
He sat up again, then leaned back and stared at the smear of setting sun, drawing energy from the restless water that he could feel lapping right up against the pilings of the wooden deck. The tide had turned while they slept. More proof that this was the same world he’d lived in before. The moon and the tides had been part of his magical studies, no matter that he’d lived in a desert. Not even the Dark Witch could deny the existence of oceans and seas on the planet, and the enormous energies stirred by the moon’s pull on those huge bodies of water could make or break a spell if it wasn’t timed properly. The moment the tide shifted was the least stable, while the point of high tide was the most. By the same token, the Dark Witch, or an acolyte with enough power, could draw from the energies of the moon and tides, just as Kato was doing now.
He hadn’t consciously considered that when he’d chosen the beach house for their retreat. He’d known only that it would soothe his soul. And now he knew why.
“There’s a big container of stew in here,” Grace called from the kitchen, her voice muffled as she stood in front of the huge refrigerator with both doors open. “Looks like . . . yep.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “It’s beef, and Mom’s cook makes a killer bourguignon. That okay?”
Sometimes Kato thought they were speaking different languages. But he knew beef, and he needed red meat. “Sounds delicious.”
He’d tried to be convincing, but he must not have succeeded, because Grace laughed happily and said, “Trust me. A hunk of bread and some of this stuff, and you’ll be in heaven.”
Her free laughter had already provoked thoughts of heaven. How long had it been since he’d heard a woman laugh like that? Not the forced polite laugh of the museum office, but the joyful laugh of a confident woman.
“I trust you,” he said, and against all odds, he meant it.
Grace immediately began hustling around the kitchen, pulling a big pot out of the freezer unit, then setting it into a matching device that she plugged into the wall.
Kato struggled to his feet. “I need to shower.” That was one convenience about this world that he truly embraced, and right now, he desperately needed it. His skin was crawling beneath a layer of blood, both his and the demon’s.
Grace had already poured two glasses of wine. She offered one to him, then set it on the big granite table—that she inexplicably called an “island”—and picked up her own. “Me, too,” she said, stirring images of the two of them showering together, his hands chasing soap suds over her pale skin, her firm ass tucked against—
“Everything you need should be in the bathroom off the bedroom you used last night.” She was staring at him, her words proper enough, but the look in her eyes . . . it said she knew what he’d been thinking, and didn’t object.
He reached for the wine she’d poured for him . . . and nearly missed it as his head spun yet again.
“Kato!” Grace rushed around the island. “Are you okay?
“It’s nothing,” he growled, disgusted with his own weakness.
“It’s not nothing. Maybe you should take a bath instead. I don’t want you to fall and crack your head. All that blood to clean up. Yuck. Come on. There’s a big tub in my bathroom. You can use that. And by the time we get back down, the stew will be ready.”
Kato wasn’t thrilled to discover he needed help making it up the stairs, but he didn’t mind having Grace’s curvy body tucked against his. Nor did he object to the idea of a long, soaking bath. Especially if Grace joined him.
“I’ll get you settled, then I can shower in your room, while you relax.”
So much for that fantasy.
GRACE WAS EXQUISITELY aware of Kato’s weight on her shoulder, of every long, lean muscle, and every ripple of abdomen revealed through the slashed fabric of his shirt. She probably shouldn’t have been noticing such things under the circumstances. But why the hell not? She was still female, still alive. And Kato was very much male. That was something to celebrate after the day they’d had. Besides, she’d have to be dead not to notice the hunk of pure sex appeal who was currently about to strip off and take a soak in her very own bathtub.<
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Oh my God, oh my God! Her inner voice was shrieking like a sixteen year old. She needed to calm the fuck down and be an adult. An adult female who wanted to fuck the hell out of the gorgeous naked man about to climb into her tub.
So much for calming down.
She glanced around as they walked through her bedroom, relieved that she hadn’t left any embarrassing clothing lying about. Not that she thought Kato would notice. He seemed pretty out of it, the poor guy. His bitch of a mother had done something to him a long time ago, something that made him hurt when he used his magic. That lady needed a lesson in letting the kids go.
“Here,” she said, guiding him over to the closed toilet seat. “I’ll get the water running hot, and then—”
“Are you going to undress me, Grace?” he asked, a little smile tilting his luscious lips.
She thought about calling his bluff, but chickened out. “I think you can handle that yourself,” she said rather primly. “Just drop the clothes on the floor. They’re trashed anyway. I’ll get you some fresh clothes from your bedroom, if that’s okay? I don’t want to rummage through your stuff.”
Kato tugged the T-shirt over his head and nearly gave her a heart attack. Good God, the man was ripped.
“The only clothing I have is what you bought me, so feel free to rummage.” He bent over to unlace his boots, and she saw his back for the first time. There was a long, jagged scar running the whole length of his spine. It looked old, but at the same time it was bright red, as if still fresh and healing.
He glanced up and caught her look. “It’s the blade,” he told her. “It burns.”
“All the time?” she gasped, too horrified to say more.
“When I use dark magic. The blade is ensorcelled and bound to my blood. It’s rather jealous, and objects when I favor magic as a weapon instead.”
He spoke about it so calmly, so matter-of-factly accepting his fate. She wanted to weep for him, to rail against the agony he lived with because he’d chosen to fight for something he believed in. It wasn’t enough that his own weapon punished him, his bitch of a mother had to get her licks in, too.
“It’s all right, Grace,” he said quietly, taking her hand.
“It’s not,” she whispered. “It’s not.” She blinked away the tears filling her eyes, turning her head so he wouldn’t see. She didn’t want him to think it was pity, because it wasn’t. It was an emotion much hotter than pity, it was outrage. “Will you be okay climbing into the tub?”
He squeezed her fingers. “I’ve done it a time or two, even after battle. I’ll manage.”
She squeezed back, then slid her fingers away. ”I’ll get your things.”
Chapter Eight
KATO WOKE ALL at once, every sense, every instinct screaming danger. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but though his eyes were open, he couldn’t see. There was nothing but blackness, and for a moment he panicked. Had he gone blind? Suffered some grievous injury? But no, though every muscle and nerve in his body was shrieking in agony, it was nothing he hadn’t suffered before. His blade burned a line down his back like fired steel, his gut felt like it was being eaten from within, and his entire body felt as if he’d been doused in some corrosive liquid and left to die. But that would never have happened, not unless Nico and his brothers had fallen with him.
Impossible.
He tried to lift his hand, intending to search his face for a reason for his blindness, but he couldn’t move. Panic tightened his chest, stretching his already agonized tissues to their limit, and he forced himself to be calm, to take inventory. There had to be a reason for all of this.
Memory returned in a rush. The freezing rain slicing into their skin, crusting their eyelashes as the weather itself seemed to counsel them to go home and fight another day. But home hadn’t been an option. Sotiris had rallied his armies, driving his warriors forward despite the icy storm, and Nico had been forced to meet him. Or surrender. And surrender was no choice at all.
And so they’d met. Two great armies ranged on opposite sides of a pristine field of white that would soon run with blood. Nico called for his brothers, the four great warriors who lived and died on his command and felt themselves privileged to do so. Four who loved him as much as he loved them. Brothers in their hearts, if not in blood.
They knelt before him, bare blades stabbing into the snow as his power settled over their heads, protection against the sorcerous winds that would rage over the battlefield. When they stood, it was as one, teeth bared in matching grins as horns sounded and drums rolled, as the massive armies slowly moved. Kato clashed blades with his brothers, and they turned, prepared to fight.
Kato frowned in his dark tomb, trying to remember. Something evil had happened then, something unforeseen even by Nico, with all of his power. A spell had arced across the open space between the armies, a white bolt of power like the sharpest lightning on a dark night. He recalled that much, recalled the bite of sorcery as it knocked him off his feet, and then . . .
His eyes searched the darkness once more. And then he’d woken here. Blind. In pain. Paralyzed. But where . . .
A sudden light sparked in the darkness, pale, but warm and yellow, like the flame of a torch. He all but groaned in relief at this proof that he wasn’t truly blind. But was this friend or foe?
The flame drew closer, bringing male voices along with it. He listened harder, but could detect none of the usual sounds of weapons and such, the ever-present rattle of a warrior’s gear. He should hide, conceal himself until he knew more. But despite his returning sight, he was still unable to move.
The men came into sight. Average height, slender, not so much as a meat knife between them. He frowned. Where was he? Was this some sorcery that he’d been separated from his brothers, from Nico?
One of the men used his single flame to light more torches, placing these new lights in niches around the sloping walls. A cave. He was in a cave? But how the hell . . . His thoughts froze as one of the men drew close to his hiding spot, bringing a torch with him and shining it directly in Kato’s face.
“Here’s a find, lads,” the man called over his shoulder, and the others came running.
But while the strangers pounded each other on the back and exclaimed their good fortune, Kato was confronting something entirely different. Horror crept into his brain, bathing in his blood and spreading out into every inch of his aching body. He struggled to raise his hand, to push himself upright instead of lying there like a block of ice, being pawed at by these strangers. But even as he fought, a small part of his brain was shrieking the truth. It wasn’t ice, it was stone.
And he was trapped.
He screamed.
GRACE WOKE TO the sound of Kato’s scream, her brain registering not just pain, but terror, horror. It was the scream of a lost soul, abandoned by his gods, left to burn for eternity.
She jolted upright and onto her feet, nearly tripping as the blankets tried to reclaim her. She didn’t bother with a robe or slippers, didn’t notice the cold wood floor against her bare feet as she ran the short distance to his room.
The screams had stopped when she got there, but she could see by the nearly full moon that he was still moaning in agony, thrashing back and forth in the big bed until the sheets were wrapped tightly around his body, trapping him. She ran over and pulled the sheets away, freeing him from whatever nightmare had hold of him. She was certain there were plenty of those to choose from in his life, but whichever one it was, it still held him in its grasp. His back was arched, his fingers clawing the sheets as if he still couldn’t move.
She didn’t think twice. She climbed onto the bed and knelt next to him, leaning over to stroke his cheek, to blow the warm air of her breath over his face. “Kato,” she murmured softly, not wanting to jerk him into consciousness too fast. All the experts said it was bad to yank a sleeper out of his dreams. But this wasn’t a dream, this was a nightmare, and he was suffering. Anything had to be better than that.
She kissed his closed eyes, his cheeks, whispering his name over and over, asking him to wake up, telling him he was dreaming.
He stiffened sharply . . . and then all at once, he relaxed, every muscle in his body going lax at the same time, as his breath ran out in a long sigh. One powerful arm curved around her back, pulling her down to his side and holding her close. She stiffened in surprise, and then relaxed herself. He was asleep, and she was his comfort, nothing more. Like a teddy bear. There was nothing wrong with that.
Telling herself she’d only stay until he was safely asleep, Grace stretched out next to his lean, muscled length, and pulled the covers up against the chill ocean air which was sneaking through a partly open window. Despite that, he was warm, and her hand on his chest registered the beat of his heart slowly returning to normal. She closed her eyes, listening as his breathing evened out . . . and she slept.
IT HAD BEEN thousands of years since Kato had woken with a woman in his bed. So long ago that he couldn’t remember.
But his body remembered well enough. It knew the soft feel of a woman’s body, the sweet curve of her hip beneath his hand, the silky touch of her skin against his blade-roughened fingertips. And some part of him remembered her scent. Not just any scent, but the scent of this woman—lightly floral, the smell of flowers after the first rains of winter.
He turned into her, dropping his hand to the small of her back and tugging her close, her firm thighs pressing against his, the warm scent of arousal rising between their bodies as he bent his head to kiss her. Her mouth opened on a soft moan when their lips touched, an invitation to delve farther, to slip his tongue between her teeth and explore the taste of her—the lingering hints of wine and herbs, the slight mint taste of a sweet dessert.
She moaned again, louder this time, full of hunger and want. Her hands slid over his ribs and back, her arms closing around him, holding him as her breasts pushed against his naked chest, full and soft, her nipples firm beneath the thin T-shirt which was the only thing between them.