He knew what he was doing. At least, when it came to hunting vampires.
Making her way through darkness broken only by a streetlight glancing through the window, Macey found a box of crackers. She winced when the packaging crinkled, then winced again when her glass made a soft clink as she pulled it from the cabinet. The water pump thunked on and went into a low hum when she turned on the tap, and to her ears it sounded like an elephant lumbering around the room.
But the house remained silent and still, and after a moment, she breathed more easily. Standing at the kitchen window, she looked out over the park in the next lot. The swings hung empty and straight, and the trees were just beginning to show their leaves against a dark gray sky. Dawn threatened, and with it would come a new day of challenge and conflict.
Macey’s fingers traced the silver crosses embedded in the sill as she chewed the crackers—which tasted as dry as sawdust and only went down when she forced them by drinking water. But her gnawing belly didn’t seem to mind.
“Did you find what you needed?”
Macey held on to her glass—just barely—and turned to Grady. “Yes. I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her heart was in her throat—forget swallowing any more crackers—and her insides were doing the Charleston.
Bathed in a shaft of light from the street, he appeared rumpled from sleep. His dark hair was every which way, and a thick curl had tumbled over his forehead. His eyes were in shadow; his chin and jaw were dusted with stubble that glinted in the dusky light. He wore a flimsy undershirt that outlined the sleek muscles of his chest and broad shoulders, as well as the bulky bandages that telegraphed the locations of his worst injuries. His feet—long and elegant—were bare beneath loose sleep pants.
“You didn’t wake me.”
That was all he said, and Macey couldn’t help but try to meet his eyes in the dark, hoping for something…some sort of connection, recognition, something that told her…
Well, what? That she hadn’t done a terrible thing to the man? That somehow Wayren’s golden disk hadn’t worked?
That he still loved her?
She swallowed hard and gestured with the package of crackers. “I hope you don’t mind. I was hungry.”
“Not at all.”
“Well, then…good night.” When he didn’t immediately shift for her to pass by, she swallowed hard and said, “Pardon me,” and went to move past him.
“No,” he said, closing strong fingers around her wrist, halting her abruptly in the narrow space, right next to him. He was close…so close…so warm, and delicious smelling, and familiar. Her heart galloped like a runaway horse, her belly filled with fluttery wings.
“I can’t do that, Macey,” he said in a low voice that had gone cold and hard. “I can’t pardon you. I can’t forgive you.”
Macey jolted, her belly dropping to her knees, and looked up at him. Rage and accusation blazed in eyes illuminated by a slice of streetlight, and his expression was harsh and set.
He knew her.
He knew.
Oh God… She felt light-headed and nauseated.
Oh, Grady.
Macey tried to swallow, tried to speak, but he released her roughly, turning away to present her with broad, rigid shoulders as he faced the window.
Devastated, she stepped closer, reaching to touch him. Her hand settled lightly on the top of his shoulder. He stiffened sharply, and she sensed the faintest tremor beneath her fingers, felt the heat and firmness of his skin…and discovered that rage and pain could, in fact, vibrate from a person’s body.
“I’m here—you’re here—because Max asked me,” he said, still in that cold, awful tone, his body rigid as steel. “That’s the only reason.”
Macey recoiled, her hand falling away to land at her side. Her gut churned more violently.
“Never fear—when he no longer has need of me,” Grady continued, “it’ll be just as you intended. As if you never knew me.”
“Grady…” she whispered, holding on to the edge of the counter as her knees wavered.
“Good night, Macey.”
But she knew he really meant Goodbye.
Throat burning, eyes stinging with hot, horrible tears, she spun and fairly ran back up the stairs.
She’d made her bed, and now she must lie in it.
TWENTY-TWO
~ Wherein the Expectations of Friendship are Enumerated ~
Savina was in possession of a secret that she knew would cause no small upheaval to certain people. She didn’t know when it would be revealed, or how, or even if it would, and so she could do nothing but sit on it like a hen waiting for an egg to hatch.
Which, in light of the fact that Rekk’s Pyramid was now in the hands of the undead, was a much more tenable eventuality to wait upon—rather than whatever terror and evil the vampires would visit upon Chicago.
When Savina awoke, Macey was still sleeping soundly next to her. Sunlight streamed into the room and she checked the clock—nearly eleven. Late for Savina to rise as well, but that was good—the poor girl had gotten some much-needed rest. Along with her Venator genes and the treatments Max had given her, Macey would likely be nearly as good as new by tomorrow.
Savina slid out of bed carefully so as not to wake her bedmate, and even remembered to drag on a robe over her flimsy nightgown before leaving the bedroom. When she came out into the hall, she nearly ran into Max—who was coming from the bathroom.
Freshly showered, but unshaven.
Wrapped only in a towel.
She was still put out with him, still keeping her distance—besides all of the other issues between them, how could he even imagine for one minute that she and Grady had been…well, whatever he’d thought?
But seeing him there in the short, narrow hallway, all clean and wet and muscular and smelling yummy and fresh…with that air of triumph and arrogance, and yet a charming undercurrent of diffidence…
Even wrapped in a towel and with weariness in his eyes and dark circles under them, scars and bites scattered on his shoulders and arms, he looked ready to take on the world. One-handed.
But hell—that was part of why she’d fallen in love with the idiot, wasn’t it? What he did, how he did it—and the fact that he was so blasted charming and good-looking while doing it.
“Good morning,” he rumbled, his dark eyes sweeping over her with interest.
All the feminine parts of her body sprang to attention, warm and quivering with delight. Drat it.
“I trust you slept well,” he added…with a definite undercurrent of You’d have slept better with me.
Damn right, but she wasn’t about to admit it.
It was all she could do to keep from throwing herself at him right then and feasting on that warm, sleek, damp skin, and having his strong arms around her, and feel his lips everywhere…
“Eventually, I did,” she replied with a warm smile, her voice still rough with slumber. “After your daughter and I had a thorough chat.”
His arrogance slipped a little at that. “Ah.”
But he recovered quickly and reached for her with a certain look in his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep last night myself,” he said, moving closer. “Spent a lot of time walking the streets. Didn’t get back till after dawn.”
She inhaled a breath of Max mingled with the soap he’d just used, and her knees weakened as he reached for her. “Macey and I talked quite late,” she said, a little more breathlessly than she would have liked. “About all sorts of things.”
But her taunt didn’t work this time, for he’d moved close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body, and now he was pulling her closer so that she bumped against his damp chest.
“Max,” she said, evading him as he bent to cover her mouth with hers. “Your daughter is sleeping right there.”
He eased back, glancing toward the bedroom door. “Did I tell you what I walked in on her doing?” he muttered, his fingers lingering on her shoulder, touching the ends of her hair. “With that devil Woodmore?”
Savina pushed him back, her hands landing on that broad, warm, taut chest…and stayed there. Weak woman, she told herself, then made her palms drop away. “No, you didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I want her to see me in a—in a compromising position.”
“But I want to see you in a compromising position,” he murmured, swooping down again.
“Max,” she said, but it was more like a moan than a protest. He’d found that tender spot on the side of her neck, just above her shoulder…and when he kissed her there, with his soft, hot mouth, all sorts of hot sensations trammeled through her body. Her knees were threatening to give out. “Not here,” she managed to say.
“No problem,” he said, and the next thing Savina knew, they were in Grady’s tiny, steamy bathroom and the tile wall was against her spine. Condensation seeped through the back of her robe as Max kissed the hell out of her—and she kissed him back, sliding her hands down over the solid muscles of his shoulders and chest.
He’d released his grip on the towel at some point, and now she could feel every bit of him pressed up against her: hard, sleek, and damp.
He muttered something low and intense, and yanked the robe from her shoulders, slid the straps of her nightgown down, and uncovered her breasts. Savina had one foot propped up against the side of the bathtub to keep her from sliding down the damp wall as he bent to kiss one of her nipples.