Chapter 26
MARCUS
Leah’s head lolls heavily on my shoulder, and I fear even setting her down. Finally, I clear her kitchen table with one hand and place her on it as gently as I can. She leans against the wall, eyes half lidded. She isn’t arguing with me, and that, more than anything, feels dire.
Her sharp tongue is her best defense, and without it, I barely recognize her.
She’s pale and wet and covered in blood.
There are scratches across her arms. Her shirt is torn.
And her wrist…it’s an injury like those I used to see in the arena.
If I were on the other side, I’d press the advantage and use her weakness against her.
Fear threads through me. Bone peeks through the mess of torn muscle and cartilage.
“Little slayer.” My words are taut.
She lifts her head to glare, and I ignore her. Instead, I skim a thumb down her arm. “Where were you tonight?” I need to know if she’s been magically injured.
“Kelpie. I told you. In the pond.” She coughs wetly. “The mayor called it in.”
The siren family. My general’s senses go on high alert. I was adept at strategy and ferreting out spies during my time as a warrior. “A siren seems well-suited to dispose of a kelpie, no?”
She groans and lets her head rest back against the wall. “Part of my—” Another weak cough. “Job. Part of my job. Except the bastards never pay me. And I keep going because I feel guilty about killing her brother.”
She makes a face, like she hates this weakness inside her, but it’s a rare thing for a supernatural being to retain her softness.
I like this siren’s family less and less.
“I’m fine. Bandages,” she croaks. “In the bathroom.”
In response, I score my wrist with a fang. The pain is bright and hot, then dies quickly as blood trickles into my palm.
“No way.” Her protest is weak. “Not drinking vampire blood.” She presses her lips together.
I step between her legs and hold my wrist to her mouth. “You might need the bandages later. Take from me while I’m here.”
I would not admit it, but pride inflates my chest when she sets her soft lips to my skin. The contact makes me shudder. I reach around to cradle her against me as she feeds. Even after battle, her hair is silky and clean-smelling.
The damp lash of her tongue sets my skin on fire. My cock jerks and I will my thoughts to go a different direction.
“Blech,” she murmurs, but swipes her tongue again.
“Surely, it can’t be that bad,” I tease. Something warm is rising inside me at how she trusts me, at how I can provide for her. This is what it must feel like to have a mate, to have a purpose beyond revenge.
“Terrible.” Another lick. “But hot damn, I feel like I just did drugs.”
“More,” I grunt. Thought is rapidly feeling as she sucks. Instinct clamors in the back of my head—demanding that I bite her and seal the bond. Or better, sink my cock inside her and bite her at the same time. I shudder with the effort to restrain myself.
When she finally pulls away, her wrist is covered in new pink skin and her eyes are wary once again.
She is right to be wary of me.
I may have fed her, but I also lied to her. I let her think I didn’t want her when it’s the furthest thing from the truth.
I pull away and stalk into the kitchen. I need to apologize to her. A mate is precious and I’m wasting what little time I’ve been given with her. I brace my hands against the counter, let my head hang. I owe her more. I owe her truth.
I swallow heavily, a weak human response to nerves. I should not feel nerves. I’ve killed thousands in my lifetime. And yet, somehow, she is the worst enemy I have faced.
“Marcus?”
Here goes nothing.