"A little."
"Toss the bandage out the window."
She did, letting in a cold gust of wind. Without his shirt on, he felt every degree in the drop of temperature.
"Will that work?" she asked.
"Not with me in the car, but I don't want you walking around with blood on you."
The next thing he knew, she was kneeling on the seat beside him, using one of those white cotton gloves to wipe away the blood on his chest.
"You're already healed."
"I heal fast. It's necessary for the job."
She made quick work of cleaning him up, her movements efficient and matter-of-fact. "Job?"
"Killing Synestryn. Protecting humans."
She brought the glove to her mouth and wet a spot to scrub away the dried blood. Then, as if she realized what she'd done, she stammered, "I-I'm sorry. I should never have put my saliva on you without permission."
Neal stifled a laugh. She was so prim and proper. "Honey, the way we kissed, I'd say it's a bit late to worry about that. Hell, I've fantasized about things involving your mouth that would make you blush."
And just like that, she did, and quickly changed the subject. "You called those things that attacked tonight sgath."
"Sgath are one type of Synestryn. There are lots. All butt-ugly. All deadly."
She finished the job, went back to her side of the truck, and the cotton glove went out the window. "And you fight them."
"Nearly every night."
"What would I do? I mean, someone who planned to continue her association with you?"
That made Neal grin. "Association? Sounds like our names should be on a business card together. You think that's what we have going here?"
"I don't know what to call it, and you shouldn't make fun. I've been through quite a bit of stress tonight."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. You sure have. I should be more understanding."
Silence greeted him and he left her alone. She did have a lot to digest. It was barely past midnight. He'd met her eight hours ago and in that time, she'd been attacked, lost a friend, and joined herself to Neal in a way she couldn't possibly understand.
But he did. He knew what her commitment meant to him and what it would mean if she decided to walk away. still, even the fear of dying couldn't stop him from celebrating what he had now.
He was fulfilling his purpose in life. He was united with a woman who could wield his power—one he was sworn to protect so she could blow away the demons that plagued Earth. Together they would be unstoppable. And not just on the battlefield.
The brief glimpse he'd had of her life still haunted him. Even though her adoptive mother had loved and cherished Viviana, she'd still felt alone. It was as if she knew she was part of something bigger than herself. She'd tried to fit in as a child, and as an adult, she'd found people who accepted her for her quirks. But it had never been enough.
Neal didn't just accept her; he reveled in her. Everything about her was fascinating—from the prim bun she wore down to those naughty stockings under her skirt. Her love for ancient Sentinel artifacts only added to her appeal.
He wanted to be part of her collection. A permanent part.
As much as he hated feeling needy and demanding, there was nothing he could do to stop himself. Without her, he would die. No matter what it took, he was going to spend what little time they had before they found the gadget convincing her that he was the kind of man worth keeping.
She was quiet as they drove. Every few minutes, he could feel a subtle tug on his power, as if she were testing the waters. Knowing that if he said anything, it would only discourage her, he kept quiet, pretending he didn't know what she was doing.
Slowly, her attempts became bolder. More power flowed between them, easing the crushing pressure inside Neal. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good.
Despite how much he needed her, despite how much he wanted her, the need to protect her tender feelings rose above all else. He promised himself he wouldn't push her for more. At least, not yet. Let her discover her newfound power on her own so she wouldn't balk at accepting it.
Two hours later, Neal was regretting his decision to let her find her own way. He kept getting glimpses of her—little fleeting images of things she felt and wanted.
He was at the top of the list. As proper as his Viviana seemed, she was all hot, passionate woman beneath that prim exterior. She kept having fantasies of her hands on his bare skin, stroking his lifemark. Every few minutes she'd glance his way and get caught up staring.
Apparently, she liked the way he looked, which worked for him. He'd never really paid much attention to the texture of his skin or the play of shadow over his muscles, but she did. And seeing that through her eyes—the way it turned her on—was making it hard for him to keep his hands on the wheel.
All he could think about was how good it felt to slide his hands up her thighs until the smooth skin above those stockings greeted him.
By the time they pulled into the driveway of the Gerai house, Neal was shaking with lust. He was careful to keep it from her—block her from sensing his thoughts—though he knew that worked against his need to bind them together. She wasn't ready for his desire yet. She was still dealing with too much. It would be unfair of him to ask her for more when she'd already given him more than he'd ever hoped to have.
Neal pulled his shirt back on before braving the cold. He found a key tucked behind the porch light and let them into the small farmhouse.
The air inside was chilly, but all the makings for a fire were laid and ready to go. Neal made quick work of getting a nice blaze going before raiding the fridge for food.
"Is this your house?" Viviana asked when he returned with some sandwich fixings.
She was curled up on a corner of the couch nearest the fire. She still wore his leather jacket, which made her look small and vulnerable.
Protective instincts rose up in Neal, and he had to fight the urge to reach for his sword and bare his teeth against an invisible threat.
"No. It's called a Gerai house, named for the group of humans who keep it stocked with food and supplies."
"Gerai?"
"They're blooded humans—humans who have ancient blood running through their veins.
Synestryn will attack them for their blood, so we protect them. In exchange, they help out where they can, like giving us a safe place to rest when we need it."
"So the Synestryn can't get to us here?"
"Oh, no. They can get to us, but it's harder to find us here than in other places, since Gilda has woven some magic that helps shield us here."
"Gilda? Who's she?"
"A powerful Theronai. She and her husband, Angus, have been together for centuries. She's the one who told me about the gadget. She has amazing power."
"And she uses it to protect these Gerai houses?"
"Among other things. But yes, I can sense her touch on this place. Unless we do something to attract attention, we should be safe here."
"That sounds nice."
Neal heard fear wavering in her voice. "I don't want you to be afraid, sweetheart. You're safe with me. I'd give my life to make sure of it."
"I'd rather you didn't. I don't want anyone else to die because of me."
He set the food on the coffee table and sat next to her, taking her hand in his. Her skin was smooth and flawless, unlike his own scarred hands. Her bones were delicate, her limbs breakable. He had no idea how he was going to keep her safe long enough for her to learn to wield his power, but he knew he'd do whatever it took to make that happen.
Neal made sure she was looking in his eyes. He couldn't stand knowing she was being eaten up by guilt. "The professor didn't die because of you. You have to believe that."
"Would those things have come for him if I hadn't given him the artifact?"
"How many people have you allowed to study your collection?"
"Several."
"Were they attacked?"
"No."
"Then there was no way for you to know what would happen. You can't blame yourself for the evil of another. All you can do is use the power you now have to stop them from doing it again."
"Is that what you do?"
He shook his head. "I can't do a lot with magic. I can use a little bit, but nothing compared to you.
The best I can do is cut them down."
"You're good at that."
"Nice of you to notice."
She was silent for a long moment. "What's it like living in your world?"
"Normal. It's all I've ever known."
"Killing monsters and fighting demons is normal? I don't think I could ever get used to that."
"There's more to being a Theronai than killing. We have a home where we take care of humans—orphaned children, mostly. We're helping rebuild a stronghold in Africa that was destroyed. And we stand guard over the Gate."
"Gate?"
"To Athanasia, the place where our magic originated. Chances are good your father was from there."
"Where is it?"
Neal shrugged. "Another planet, I guess. I never really worried much about the details. I fought when I needed to, protected when I needed to, and in the meantime, I spent every second looking for you."
She scoffed at that. "That's hard to believe."
"It's true. I mean, I didn't know your name, but I hoped you were out there. And here you are. My own personal miracle."
"You make it sound so easy—like you already know how things will end."
"I've had over four hundred years of watching unions between our people. They're not all easy, but the luceria picked you to be with me for a reason. I know enough to trust that and let the rest work itself out."
She looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. Neal let it drop, refusing to cause her any more upset tonight. There would be time for her to come around. He could be patient.
