Night of the Tiger(78)

Nodding, she followed as he led the way. There was no doubt in her mind he knew exactly where he was going. She desperately needed to get cleaned up, yet again, and then there was the cut on Roric’s leg. Maybe he could heal it like he had the wound in her belly. She didn’t mention it even though she was worried about it. She sensed he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Bone tired, she put one foot in front of the other, trying to forget the fact she was covered in demon blood. It stung her arms and face, and dirt stained her hands. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she pulled her hand out of his grip. Crouching down, she plucked some moss from the ground and rubbed it against her skin. It took off some of the blood, but not all of it.

Roric said nothing as he pulled the moss out of her hand and tossed it aside. His lips compressed into a hard line as he yanked his shirt off and used the cloth to wipe the blood from her face. His motions were stiff, almost rough, as he rubbed her arms and hands and the flesh between her fingers.

Anger rolled off him in waves, although none of it showed on his face. She felt buffeted by it, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. She’d done what she had to do and wouldn’t change anything if she had to do it again.

He’d just have to be mad at her.

She ignored the hard, icy lump in the pit of her stomach and chewed on her bottom lip to keep from crying. Tears were useless. She glanced at her watch and was shocked to discover the afternoon had passed while they’d been occupied. She looked around and, sure enough, darkness was closing in around them.

Once again, time seemed to pass differently inside the carnival tent with the carousel. The clock was ticking away, and there were less than six hours until midnight.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

When Roric was finished cleaning her as best he could, she didn’t thank him, didn’t speak. Instead, she turned and started walking. Even though there wasn’t much light, she knew where she was now. She was cautious as she stepped over debris, careful of her left leg, which was shaky after everything she’d put it through. The last thing she needed was to fall and injure herself.

Roric was close behind her all the way back to the car. He tossed his bloody shirt into the back then grunted as he fitted his large frame into the front seat. Aimee opened her door and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Taking a deep breath, she started the car, flicked on the headlights and started the drive home. Roric gave a low grunt. She glanced over and noticed his hand on his thigh. When he lifted it a second later the cut on his leg was closed. She breathed a sigh of relief as she turned her gaze back to the road.

Neither of them spoke while she maneuvered the vehicle over the dark, empty road. The silence lengthened between them, both of them lost in their thoughts. She gave a sigh of relief when she pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the house.

They both climbed out of the vehicle and headed toward the house. Aimee finally spoke as she unlocked the front door and went inside. “I’m going upstairs to get cleaned up.”

Roric put his massive forearm in front of her. “Not until I check the house.”





Chapter Seventeen

Roric was furious with himself. He’d lost all sense of reason back in the clearing. It was insanity to enter Hell to try to rescue the Lady on his own. Hades’ realm was not easily breached by those who didn’t belong. If he’d managed to make it there he’d have been just as trapped as his Lady.

Because of his lapse, the carnival and his friends were gone. But worst of all, he’d almost gotten Aimee killed. A sick feeling grew in the pit of his belly whenever he thought about her throwing herself in front of him to keep him from tossing his life away in a useless effort.

He’d played right into the demon’s hands. Allowed emotion to be used against him. He wasn’t proud of that fact.

It was time to make things right. He had only hours to go. If he could keep Aimee alive that long, her part in this would be over. No matter what happened to him, he would not sacrifice her, not allow her to die.

The mental connection he’d managed for a brief second with the Lady had made things abundantly clear. Aimee must survive at all costs. Another innocent life must not fall to Hades.

Aimee, not he, had slain the demon named Sandra. The blood on her hands and face had been a testament to her bravery and an abomination to all that was sacred and good. He had failed to protect her. He would not do so again.

He shackled his hand around her wrist, keeping her close to him. Her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. From fear or anger, he wasn’t sure. It certainly wouldn’t be arousal. After the way he’d let her down, she’d never let him in her bed again, even if there were time for such activities.