Chris still came to the suite occasionally, but only when she was lonely, when her heart ached, and when she didn’t think she could bear spending one more night by herself.
Not that she had to, she thought as she watched Jamys disappear into the adjoining bath. The guys in the garrison were big, strong, beautiful men; she’d watched them treat the mortal females they brought to the stronghold with gentleness and respect. Every woman who spent a night in the garrison’s quarters left the next morning with a big, dreamy smile on her face.
As protective as Lucan and Sam were of her—and Chris was pretty sure the suzerain had warned his men not to lay one immortal finger on her without her consent—nearly all of the stronghold’s warriors had made it clear they found her attractive. All she’d have to do was bat an eyelash in the right direction and she’d never sleep alone again.
Yet as gorgeous as the jardin’s warriors were, none of them had big dark eyes, or black hair as fine as a silk fringe, or hands that moved like water flowed. She admired them, she liked them—a couple had become like surrogate big brothers—but no man among the garrison had ever touched her heart.
Jamys emerged and made another circuit of the room, this time inspecting the windows and their black vertical blinds.
Chris had hidden from everyone her feelings for Jamys, but to cope with the loneliness she’d been forced to put her dreams and desires on ice. Now she wanted to throw herself at him, and cling to him, and tell him how hard it had been to train and wait and hope. She wanted him to know it was all for him. Everything.
And the moment she did that, he would gently set her aside, call for Burke, and have the blonde from downtown or the redhead from the restaurant take her place.
She had to get out of the suite and away from him, now, before she made a complete ninny out of herself. What hadn’t she told him about the rooms? “The blinds are on a timer, and close automatically thirty minutes before sunrise. They don’t open again until thirty minutes after sunset.” She squared her shoulders and walked over to show him the manual pulls hidden inside the end panels. “The windows on this floor are sealed, but the transoms open if you want some fresh air. The doors also lock automatically, so you’ll need to carry this access card with you.”
She reached into her jacket to retrieve the one she’d programmed for him. Pain made her hiss as the shard of broken glass in her pocket sliced across her fingertips.
“Excuse me.” She kept her hand in her pocket and hurried into the adjoining bathroom.
Chris held her bleeding hand over the frost-blue bowl of glass that served as the sink, and winced as cold water from the automatic tap washed over the open cuts. Because the Kyn healed spontaneously, she hadn’t thought to stock the suite with a first-aid kit; she’d have to wrap some tissue around her hand until she could get back downstairs.
“You’re wounded.”
The caress of his breath across the bare back of her neck made her close her eyes briefly. Jamys knew she was hurt because he smelled the fresh blood; the Kyn were almost like sharks that way.
“I cut myself on a piece of glass I had in my pocket.” She reached for the box of tissues, but Jamys had her bleeding hand in his and was examining the small wounds. “It’s nothing.”
His eyes shifted to hers, and she saw a thin ring of glowing amber encircling his pupils, which had begun to contract to thin vertical slivers. “Why hide it from me? Do you think I will feed on you?”
“No, I was embarrassed because I was clumsy.” From the look he gave her it was clear that he didn’t believe her. “I’ve been assigned to you, my lord, and I’m trained to take care of your needs. If you want the blood, I’ll go get a glass.”
Jamys kept his eyes on hers as he slowly lifted her injured hand to his mouth. His dents acérées flashed for a moment before he sank them into heel of his own hand.
Chris caught her breath as he raised his head. Two drops of blood beaded in the small puncture wounds that were already beginning to close. “What are you doing?”
“Healing you.” Jamys guided one of her hurt fingers to his palm, and gently pressed the cut into the blood. Chris caught her breath as she felt the cool mingling of his blood with hers, and then her cut went numb. He repeated the act again with her other finger, and then used a tissue to blot the blood away.
Chris saw both of her cuts had closed, just as fast as the punctures in his palm. “Why did you bother?”
“You are not my food, Christian, or my servant. You are my friend, and I do not want you hurt.” He put his hand to the back of her head, holding it as he pressed a kiss to her brow. “Do you understand?”