Lover Mine(65)

She was out and he didn't even know what condition she was in. Was she hurt? Did she need to feed? Did--

Right. Time to stop playing that loop.

And he probably should take off. Wrath had been pretty damned clear about that no-fighting-without-Qhuinn business and this would still be considered a hot spot for the enemy.

Abruptly, he realized where he had to go.

Pushing himself out of his lean, he paused and looked around with a frown. The sensation of being watched, of being followed, cloaked him once again--just like it had back at that tat shop.

Tonight, however, he just didn't have the energy to support a good dose of paranoia, so he simply dematerialized, figuring whoever or whatever it was would either track him again or he'd lose them in the ether--and he didn't care which it would be.

He was pretty fucking worn-out.

When he took form again, he was a mere handful of blocks from where he'd done the number on that lesser the night before. From the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he took out a copper key that was just like the one Rehv had put to use on the hunting cabin.

He'd had the thing for about a month and a half. Xhex had given it to him the night he had told her she could trust him with her symphath secret, and like her cilices, he took it with him wherever he went.

Ducking under the stairs of a brownstone, he inserted the sliver of metal and opened the door. The lights in the basement hall were motion-activated and the stretch of whitewashed stone was instantly illuminated.

He was careful to lock up behind himself and then he went down to the only door.

She had given him sanctuary in this private place once before. Had granted him access to her basement room when he had needed to be alone. And when he'd taken advantage of the hospitality, it had led to her taking his virginity.

She'd refused to kiss him, though.

The same key worked in the door to the bedroom, the locking mechanism shifting smoothly. As he swung the metal panels wide, the light came on and he stepped in--

John died a little at what he saw on the bed: His heart and breath stopped, his brain waves ceased, his blood froze in his veins.

Xhex's bare-naked body was curled up on the sheets.

As the room was flooded with illumination, her hand tightened on the gun that lay flat on the mattress and was pointed at the door.

She didn't have the strength to lift either her head or the weapon, but he was highly confident she could pull that trigger.

Raising up his arms and showing his palms, he stepped to the side and kicked the door shut to protect her.

Her voice was barely a whisper. "John . . ."

A single, bloodred tear pooled in the eye he could see and he watched it slowly ease over the bridge of her nose and drop onto the pillow.

Her hand retreated from the weapon and went to her face, moving inch by inch, as if it took all she had in her to draw it upward. She covered herself the only way she was able, her shield of palm and fingers hiding her tears from him.

She was marked all over with welts and bruises in various stages of healing and she'd lost so much weight, her bones seemed about to break through her flesh. Her skin was gray instead of a healthy pink and her natural scent was nearly nonexistent.

She was dying.

The horror of it all weakened his knees to the point that he listed and had to catch himself back against the door.

But even as he wobbled, his mind kicked into gear. Doc Jane needed to come look at her and Xhex needed to feed.

They didn't have a lot of time left.

If she was going to live, he was going to have to take charge here.





John ripped off his leather jacket and yanked up his sleeve as he headed to her. The first thing he did was gently cover her nakedness by folding the top sheet across her. The second was shoving his cocked wrist right up to her mouth . . . and waiting for her instincts to take over.

Her mind might not want him, but her body was not going to be able to resist what he had to offer.

Survival always won out over matters of the heart. He was living proof of it.





TWENTY-TWO





Xhex felt a soft brush across her shoulder and hip as John drew the sheet around her.

From behind the shelter of her hand, she inhaled and all she smelled was good, clean, healthy male . . . and the scent stirred hunger deep in her gut, her appetite and needs waking from their slumber with a roar.

And that was before John put his wrist up so close she could kiss it.

Her symphath instincts snaked out and read his emotions.

Calm and purposeful. Utterly tight in the head and the heart: John was going to save her ass if it was the last thing he did.

"John . . ." she whispered.

The problem with this situation . . . well, one of them . . . was that he wasn't alone in knowing how close to death she was.

Her anger at Lash had been a sustenance while she'd been jailed and abused, and she'd thought it would have kept her going outside as well. But the instant she'd made that call to Rehv, all her energy had drained out of her and left her nothing but a heartbeat. And not much of one at that.