Sensing her protest, he shook his head. “Besides, we have a haint here who is—unknowledgeable—about children, and it would be nice for someone to help him with Molly from time to time.”
What the hell? Trying to keep calm, Mary said, “What is a haint, and why does he have Molly?”
Raphael picked up the ends of her hair from her waist. “A haint is a ghost who was so furious about being killed, he has remained in our world as a powerful spirit who can touch, feel and be hurt. Wish, the haint, is Molly’s father.”
“Richard is her father.”
“No, but I think Richard killed Wish,” Raphael said drolly.
Mary considered for a moment, but knew there was no real choice. Raphael knows he’s given me no choice, she thought. She couldn’t leave Molly.
“Fine,” she said. “I will live here because I can’t leave Molly with a moron, and I have no place to go anyway. But,” she added, “I want a real job. Wish needs to raise his own daughter; I’m not here to be a nanny.”
“Done,” Raphael said, rising to stand before her. He held out a hand. “Are you ready to see your new home?” he asked. His smile was all dimples and gleaming teeth. He’s truly happy I’m staying. She felt herself smiling back, warmth tugging at her chest.
Mary took his hand, pain lancing through her leg as she swung it over the side of the bed. Raphael’s smile vanished, quickly replaced with a furious expression. Determined, she stood, proud that she hardly swayed at all. She still wore her uniform from last night. It was caked in dried blood.
“Thoughtless,” Raphael murmured. “Of course you’ll want to shower first.”
She nodded eagerly. She’d kill for a shower.
Like that, Raphael had her in his arms, was charging toward a darkened door on the side of the room. When he flicked on the lights, Mary saw the bathroom of her dreams.
The shower itself was larger than the carriage house’s kitchen, the walls and floor were white marble pierced by at least a dozen gleaming showerheads. Raphael swung open the shower door and gently placed Mary on the wide bench. To her right was a button for a steam function. It’s a steam room too!
“I’ll be just outside the door. Call if you need me,” Raphael said gruffly.
As he turned to leave, Mary caught his arm. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.” He nodded, his eyes burning into hers. Then Mary was alone with heavenly-scented soaps in the world’s largest shower.
She would have to try the steam out. After all, she had a new job and a place to live. She wasn’t dead, and her sister was safe. She smiled to herself as she started turning every knob she could get her hands on.
*
Leaving Mary alone in his bathroom was one of the most difficult things Raphael had ever done. She looked so fragile and trusting, her thin frame curled up on the bench, her eyes wide as she’d thanked him so sincerely. Her last words made him want to puff out his chest and act as a personal shield for the small female.
At the moment, it meant shielding her from himself. He’d wanted to tip her head back and kiss her, forcing her to forget all but him. He hardly kept himself from taking off both their clothes and bathing every inch of her. He wouldn’t have neglected a single inch.
I’ll do those things, but only if she wishes. He would leap off the tallest building he could find before harming a single hair on Mary’s head.
She was beauty and salvation incarnate. She made him forget the things he’d done, the shame and the bitter regret that contaminated everything he did temporarily wiped away.
What circumstances caused her to be dependent upon the boto for her well-being? Had she no one to care for her? She takes care of her sister and Molly, but there is no one for her.
That would change. Soon he would die, but he would see her cared for before his death. He wanted to feel the flare of her hips, see her cheeks rounded in her smile. He wanted the marks under her eyes replaced with light and crinkles at their corners.
Most of all, he wanted to see her without worry. He wished he could take away all of her concerns, and as he vanquished the botos, he would eliminate her burdens as well. It was only fair, he reasoned.
A mere smile from her took away his greatest pain.
Her scream interrupted his thoughts. He didn’t consider her privacy as he stormed into the bathroom, past the pile of her stained clothes, and wrenched open the shower door. She’d protectively brought one leg against her chest; the other was straight in front of her, the partially healed cut deeper than he remembered, trickling blood that turned the water pink around her.
Water that was absolutely scalding, he realized.
Quickly, he turned the knobs to a temperature that wouldn’t burn her. He lifted her into his arms, ignoring her nudity as best he could, and tilted her chin to look at him. “May I bathe you?” he asked.
She nodded. He was confident some of the wetness around her eyes came from tears, not just the spray. “It hurts,” she said, looking at the six-inch gash. “I thought to wash it out with that thing.” She lifted up a handheld showerhead, pushed the button to turn it on. “But it hurt too much with the water pressure.”
She was right. He’d had it set to hard, thin lines of water that couldn’t have helped her wound. My fault. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “I didn’t think to—”
She actually laughed. “Don’t be sorry, I’m the one being a big baby.” She wiped her eyes. “Would you do me a favor?”
Her hair was clinging in ribbons to her lithe body, her face pink from the heat. Red, full lips were turned up in a wry smile. Looking into her bright green gaze, he thought, How could I deny this woman anything? “You can ask anything of me,” he said honestly.
Her smile widened. After everything that had been done to her, how could she smile like this? Rather than seeing the evil in the men who’d hurt her, she focused on the good in him. It humbled him.
“Will you sit with me in the steam before you help me bathe? I’d give my eye teeth for a few minutes in just…warmth.” He wished the longing in her voice were for him, not a feature of his shower. Instead of attempting to change the direction of her desires and scaring her, he simply sat in the bench, settled her in his lap, and turned on the steam.
She sighed, curling her arms around him and placing her head in the crook of his neck. He knew she could feel the growing erection through his soaked gym shorts when she stiffened, frowning. He was about lift her from him when she looked up into his face, her upper lip thinning and a crease forming at her brow, but she suddenly relaxed. Obviously, she hadn’t deemed him a threat.
She gifted him with a brilliant smile, and he couldn’t help but grin back.
“Those dimples.” She reached up to touch outside the corners of his mouth. What was she talking about? “You have dimples that girls would kill for you to let them take shots out of.”
He had no idea what she meant, but she was touching him happily, and he could ask for nothing more. Her soft touch was a contradiction to the roughness of his body, and he wanted all of her softness wrapped around him. There will be time for that. Even his body willed him to take.
She’d been through too much in too short of an amount of time. He would wait until she was healed, physically and mentally, before touching her.
Though he certainly never wanted to move her from her place on his lap, his time was limited. He had much to do this day, and the sooner it was accomplished, the sooner he could come back to Mary. He forced a serious expression. “I’m going to clean you now,” he said.
As gently as he could, he shampooed her hair, frowning as some of its darkness seemed to rinse out with the soap swirling down the drain. “I dyed it,” Mary said, her eyes closed. “Richard once said he much preferred blondes; I hoped he’d find the change unattractive.”
Raphael gritted his teeth as he lathered up a rag. “That’s not what you should have done.”
Mary cast him an irritated look. “Then what should I have done?”
“You should have quit,” he said quietly, running the rag up her smooth back. It was truly without flaw, beginning with dainty shoulders and ending with two dimples that stood in stark relief against her creamy skin. He wanted to kiss just where it dipped, and he would. Soon.
Mary turned her head as if to say something angry, looked at him from the corner of her eye, and let out a long, slow breath. “I know,” she murmured. “I put myself at risk, and by extension Leila, too. And that I can’t do again.”
He finished washing her, careful not to leave as much as a speck of blood or dirt anywhere on her body. Feigning helping her to stand, he wrapped an arm around her back, only to flip her around, tugging her chest against his. “You will not put yourself in danger again either,” he growled angrily. “Promise me.”
“Why do you care?”
Because you’re mine. He wouldn’t dishonor her by voicing it aloud. There was too much blood on his hands for a woman like Mary to ever claim him. If she knew the truth about his past, she would be horrified, and rightfully so. He would make sure she never found out. He would never embarrass her by publicly declaring her as his, despite his every instinct screaming that he do so. The were in him wanted to lean down and bite her neck so it left a mark, a sign for others to keep away from her.
Raphael would find another way to make sure she would be untouched.
“You’re here with me now, and that is my rule.” He tightened his grip on her, splaying both hands flat against her back. Warm water poured on both of them, making it difficult for Mary to look up at him, pressing against Raphael’s sodden clothes. Mary reached around him and turned the water off.
She wrung out her hair and pressed two soft palms against his chest. “Are there any other rules I should be aware of?” she asked, her voice happy, teasing, as if she’d liked his response.
“That’s my only rule,” he said, again trying his best not to look at her exquisite body. This is not the time.
He handed Mary a towel and went back into his room, rivulets of water pouring to the floor as he walked. His steps were stiff, mimicking a particular part of his anatomy. He wanted to pat her dry, wanted to make her wet all on his own. Instead, he began to peel his clothes off, throwing them to the floor.
“You have clothes in the first drawer,” he said. “Leila brought them for you; she said everything you’ll want is in there. This is the room you’ll stay in—I’ll sleep elsewhere.” Placing her here was a clear message to the rest of the clan: she was his and his alone. Mary would never know.
“I have things I need to do, and there’s someone you must talk to before you see Wish and Molly.” He pulled off his shorts. Now he was the one completely naked.
Her bright eyes huge, she handed him her towel with a murmured, “Here.”
Mary’s cheeks were pink. Raphael felt her gaze on him as he quickly toweled off and pulled on another black shirt and pair of shorts. At the scent of her arousal, he couldn’t help but grin. If she wanted him, nothing would stop him from having her. He would leave this earth knowing the beauty that was Mary, inside and out.
“Who do you want me to talk to?” she asked, her voice even more hoarse than before. She cleared her throat, her hand fluttering up to her chest.
“Her name is Aiyanna, and everything she will tell you is true,” he said seriously. “Listen to her.”
Mary nodded. Raphael led her from his room, down a hallway and a flight of stairs to the firehouse’s living room. Alex and Leila were playing a racecar video game projected onto a screen that covered the far wall. Cael sat in one of the lounge chairs, likely watching Aiyanna, who Raphael couldn’t see.
When he turned the dimmed lights up Alex groaned, and Leila turned around curiously, the expression on her face turning panicked when she saw Mary.
Mary, honey, why don’t we get you something to eat from the kitchen? They have your favorite flavor moon pie, she signed, her expression imploring.
As Mary shook her head, Raphael saw she was shaking all over.
Alex, you said she wouldn’t see her like this! Leila signed, her motions jerky, frustrated.
Raphael turned to see what Leila was talking about. Aiyanna, a shapeshifter, was curled up on the seat opposite Cael in panther form. She winked a yellow eye at Mary.
He barely caught her as she fell into a dead faint.
I told you she was scared of wompus cats. You said you’d warn Raphael, Leila signed, exasperated. She turned to Aiyanna. I know you can understand me, kitty. You didn’t have to shock her like that.
Raphael swore he heard Aiyanna chuckle.
He set Mary down on the couch next to Leila and pulled Alexandre up by his shirt. “If you so much as let her be scared by a spider again, I’ll kick your teeth in,” he growled.
Alex pulled away, now fully laughing. “I’m sorry, man, it won’t happen again…they called Aiyanna wompus.” He gripped his sides and bent over, his laughter failing to subside.
Leila frowned at him, then looked at Raphael. Normally I’d mention something about how violence is bad, but he deserves it, she signed. And she is a wompus cat. She made a huffing sound.
Said cat was definitely laughing now, but before Raphael could turn his ire on her, Cael was in front of him. “No,” was all he said, his face blank, before he returned to his perch.
Raphael sighed, ran a hand across his face. If Mary fainted at the sight of a panther, what would she do when she found out he was a werewolf?
Leila was lightly slapping Mary’s face, trying to wake her up. What would she do when she learned she wasn’t human?
Chapter 5
Someone was lightly slapping Mary’s face. “Leila says she’ll sic the wompus cat on you if you don’t wake up,” an obnoxiously cheerful voice said. Mary guessed it was Alexandre, who sounded like he was at least ten feet away.
She reached up and covered her eyes. There was definitely not a giant cat sitting near her, and it definitely hadn’t winked at her. She’d been afraid of the beasts ever since she was a child. Her mother had told her and Leila stories about creatures all their lives, but the ones that stood out the most were the sack man and the wompus cat—those two were said to drag bad little girls from their beds and eat them.
Mary groaned and uncovered her eyes. She really didn’t want to be eaten…unless Raphael was involved. In that case, she wanted to be devoured. Although initially shocked by his entrance to the shower—she hadn’t realized she yelled that loudly—shock turned to being touched, literally and figuratively.
She saw the way he tried not to look at her, not to embarrass her, but he’d also been strained, stress lining his mouth, the hardest part of him pressing against her. He fought himself for her, just to make her feel more comfortable. Hell, it would have been enough that he’d helped wash her when he was fully clothed, which had to have been miserable. He hadn’t seemed to notice.
He was too busy taking care of her, something no one had done for her in what felt like a lifetime.
Mary didn’t think she’d ever recover from seeing him naked. The mere sight of him ruined her for all men, as he made them seem like another species altogether. A deep tan covered his body, where muscle stretched across more muscle. Black hair spread across his defined pecs down in a line to reveal just how well-endowed he was, and large was an understatement. Given, she’d only seen one other naked man before, but she had no doubt Raphael made the vast majority of the male population seem puny in comparison.
Apparently Greek gods do go to Thump.
As she’d gazed, most likely drooling, at Raphael, she couldn’t help but think this man would protect me. This man could be the end for all the horrors Mary and Leila had gone through. How could he not? He looked utterly invincible, and even though he probably didn’t know it, he simply emanated power. Everything about him was dangerous for his enemies, and Mary knew with a scary level of certainty that he would never hurt her.
So as not to set back the Feminist Movement thirty
years, she would protect him too. She didn’t know how, exactly, but she’d find a way. Who looked after him, anyway? Who told Raphael not to place himself in danger?
From now on, both Leila and he had a protector in Mary, and she’d make damn sure she did a good job.
To her right the cat flashed, startling Mary, into a beautiful human woman who looked to be about her age. She shook back shiny black hair that matched the cat’s coat. “Not a cat person, huh?” she said on a tinkling laugh.
“You’ve got some effed up gris-gris,” Mary said darkly. She really didn’t like big cats.
“Girl, you have no idea.” The woman’s smile widened.
“That’s Aiyanna,” Raphael said helpfully. He sat in a soft-looking, well-used chair next to an unfamiliar man who looked like he belonged on a runway. His face was expertly chiseled, surely an intimidating example of what true aristocracy looked like. Chin-length black hair was pushed back from his eyes, his blue gaze resting on Aiyanna.
“Who’re you?” Mary asked him. Raphael growled. The man just looked at her, his bored expression saying, “You are nothing.” Mary decided he was the type of handsome that made him completely unapproachable. Or maybe that’s just him, she thought.
“He’s Cael,” Aiyanna said. “And he wants me.” She blew him a kiss. Leila and Mary exchanged an impressed glance. Maybe the wompus cat wasn’t so bad.
Cael narrowed his eyes, disgusted, and stormed from the room. Aiyanna only shrugged, but Mary could see she was upset. The light in her yellow eyes left with the irritated man.
“It’s nice see you’re a local,” Aiyanna said. “These dogs wouldn’t know gris-gris from a Mardi Gras doubloon.” She hooked a manicured thumb at Leila. “Your upbringing helped her accept who she was—and who we are—a lot easier than most.”
Mary felt her breath catch as the new information clicked into place.
The stories their mother had told them were real. Stories of witches and voodoo priestesses, men who turned to wolves during the full moon, ghosts, vampires, the beautiful and deadly Fae. Kelpies who lured teenagers into the lake, and women whose wails brought death.
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