"You are the only woman except Belle who has ever made me feel clumsy."
Ixion was there with a handkerchief. Asher took it and dabbed at the few spots he'd gotten on the sheets.
"Is that a compliment, or an insult?" I asked. My voice sounded better, less hoarse. It made me wonder how long I'd been unconscious. I didn't ask, because if it had been a long time, then Asher would feel worse, and I'd be more scared. I let it go.
He finished trying to soak the water up, handing the handkerchief back as if he expected Ixion to simply be there to take it. He was, and he did, but the offhand quality of the gesture made me wonder again how long had I been out. "It is neither, just the truth. You have made me feel awkward from the moment I met you."
"I tend to have that effect on ladies' men."
He looked at me then. I tried to read his expression and failed. "I am a ladies' man, am I?"
"Belle Morte made certain that all of you were good with the ladies."
"And the men. Do not forget, Anita, she made certain we knew how to pleasure men, as well."
I nodded, and stopped, because the bandages pinched. "I've grasped that concept, thanks."
"But you are not happy with it."
"More puzzled by it."
He smoothed the sheets where he'd dampened them. I think he was looking for anything to fuss over, rather than what we were doing. I'd never seen him this uncomfortable.
I did what I'd wanted to do since he walked into the room. I laid my hand on his. He went very, very still under my touch. That awful, unnatural stillness, where it feels like you're not touching anything alive. He went away from my touch, but I kept my hand on his. If he thought a little weird vampire shit would make me move, he was wrong.
"Anita," and his voice tried to be as empty as his body, but failed.
"I'm not afraid because you almost killed me. I'm afraid because you almost killed me, and I still want to touch you."
He drew his hand out of mine. He sat down, but he would at least look at me now. "I have rolled your mind, completely and utterly. I have done what you feared that I would do."
"And don't you want to touch me?"
"Yes." He whispered it.
"You were the first one to realize that just biting me helps me gain control over a vamp. I don't think it's just you who's rolled me."
"Are you saying you have gained control of me?"
"I'm not sure what I'm saying. I just know that I don't want you gone. I don't want you to never touch me again. I want us to be together. Beyond that, I don't know."
"Together in what way, Anita?"
"We'll just need a spotter," I said.
"A spotter, what are you talking about?"
"A spotter, like you have in gymnastics. Sex with you is so good we need spotters."
"So dangerous, you mean," he said, and he stared at his hands where they lay loose in his lap.
"I'd do it again, Asher."
He looked up then, and it wasn't a happy look. "Do you really mean that?"
"Yes."
"That should frighten you, and me."
"It does scare me, but it doesn't really scare you, does it?"
"I'm terrified for your safety, but…"
"You've been a very good boy, haven't you?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
I had one of those moments of seeing so deep into another person that it makes the rest of the world seem unsteady for a moment. It wasn't vampire powers, or necromancy, it was just a moment of insight so bright and painful that I couldn't look away. "Look me in the eye, Asher, and tell me that you've never done what you did with me before, and had the woman not survive it?"
He looked away then, those pale eyes hiding from me.
"Asher," I said.
He met my eyes with that blank perfect face, peering through the mess of his hair. "I have done what you accuse me of."
"It's not an accusation," I said, "it was more a statement."
"Do you not think me a monster for it?"
I thought about it. Did I think him a monster? "Did you do it on purpose?"
"Did I go into the lovemaking planning the death of my lover?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's what I mean?"
"No, save once."
"Once?"
"There was a lord from whom Belle desired money and land. He had been diagnosed with a cancer. He was a strong, proud man. He did not wish to die in pain and sickness. He requested I kill him. He wished to die by pleasure, instead of pain. He also felt that if I took his life, it was not suicide, so his soul was strangely safe."
He told the story in an empty voice, as if it meant nothing to him. It was the kind of voice that people use about trauma or tragedy when they haven't dealt with it yet.