Night of the Tiger(79)

He ignored the sense of devastation and loss that surged through him, accepting it as no less than he deserved. He was a warrior, a protector. Yet it was she who’d been forced to protect him.

Never again.

He would not allow her to be put in that position again. She was his to protect and, by the Lady, he would not fail.

Locking his emotions away, he got on with the business at hand. Taking a deep breath, he let his senses flare outward. The tiger within him perceived nothing out of the ordinary. There were no foreign smells or sounds. Still, he moved cautiously through the downstairs, checking every closet and room before heading upstairs.

He could hear her unsteady breathing as she walked up the stairs just behind him. Fear tinged her scent. Roric wanted to throw back his head and roar with anguish. A woman like Aimee should be safe and happy, not bloody and scared.

One by one, he checked every room. When he determined that it was safe, for now, he reluctantly released her wrist. As soon as he’d done so, he missed the connection between them.

“Um, I’m going to get some clean clothes and hit the shower.” She was nervous around him now. He ignored the pain that realization caused.

He nodded, trying desperately not to think about Aimee naked, warm water running over her smooth skin. His cock stirred and his pants became unbearably tight. The muscles in his arms longed to hold her. Crossing his arms over his chest to keep from reaching out and yanking her into his arms, he watched as she gathered clean clothing and headed to the bathroom.

“Don’t close the door.”

She jerked slightly at his command, but nodded. “I’ll leave it cracked a few inches,” she promised.

Roric leaned against the wall and released a pent-up sigh. His entire body, his entire being, ached to hold Aimee in his arms. He shifted restlessly, ignoring the tiger’s desire to be free to hunt his enemies. Her protection was his only goal now. If they could both live past midnight, the curse on him would be broken and his full power restored. No longer would he be bound to the carousel or to Hades. He would be free to fight to release his comrades and the Lady.

It was too easy to picture Phoenix, Stavros and Mordecai and the rest of them sitting around a campfire, sharing food, talking and laughing, enjoying one another’s company. It had been like that forever. The seven of them, brothers-in-arms, serving the Lady they all loved so well.

He couldn’t think about three of them being gone. Raking his fingers through his hair, he stiffened when the water began to run. The spray was broken briefly. He closed his eyes and gave a ragged sigh. That water was now coating Aimee’s sleek curves, caressing her supple flesh.

Aimee was both a gift and a curse. His attraction to her yanked his attention away from the problem at hand. Hades would toy with them, letting them think they might win, might come out of this night alive, before launching an attack. The keeper of the underworld would not surrender their souls easily.

His eyes flew open, and he pushed away from the wall he was leaning on. His sword appeared in his hand. What had he heard? The noise had been low, almost nonexistent, but his acute hearing had picked it up.

Cocking his head to one side, he listened. There it was again. He jerked around, already in motion. It was coming from the bathroom.

The door hit the wall with a smack as he burst into the room. Aimee yelled. He yanked back the shower curtain, sword raised, to face…a naked Aimee.

“What the hell are you doing? You scared me to death.” She glared at him, cheeks rosy, eyes flashing.

Roric tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but couldn’t. His mouth was suddenly too dry. She was a vision of loveliness, totally naked and wet. The blood was gone, washed down the drain, and only sweet-smelling woman remained.

Swearing, she grabbed the edge of the shower curtain and held it against her body. He could have told her it didn’t matter. The fabric might hide some of her, but her image was forever burned into his brain.

It was then he noticed that her eyes were red and not all the water on her face had come from the shower. She’d been crying. That was what he’d heard.

The sword disappeared in a thought, and he reached out to stroke her cheek. He captured some of the moisture there, brought it to his mouth and tasted the salt. “You’ve been crying.” It came out almost as an accusation.

She shrugged, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. “Give a girl a break. It’s been a rough day.” Her gaze slipped away from his.

Capturing her chin between his thumb and index finger, he tipped her face upward. A single tear trickled from the corner of her eye.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He swiped at the tear with his thumb. “I’m sorry this happened to you, sorry you’ve become a part of this nightmare.”