Chapter 42
MARCUS
The following evening, the air is thick with anticipation as we prepare for battle. The pain from last night is gone, replaced with tension. We both consider the box with crossed arms.
“Does it make weapons?” I don’t trust the box, but additional weapons are always good. Leah stands next to me in her underwear. It’s all business—a bra that compresses her chest and plain briefs—but it still makes me want to bite her.
“If they’re wearable, yes. I got a fantastic set of throwing knives after a few tries last year.” Her smile is quick and vicious.
“My little killer,” I say affectionately.
Her cheeks go pink. “You wouldn’t have said that a week ago.”
“I didn’t know you a week ago, my pretty mate. I like how vicious you are.” She fits me perfectly, this slayer.
Leah ducks her head, concentrates, and opens the box. We stare down at a sparkly pink stick topped with a unicorn head. Sheer horror makes me wince.
“I am not carrying that.”
The tension in the air eases. Leah giggles. “But pink could be your color.”
“What is that? A witch thing?” I don’t trust witches because they’re very hard to kill. In my experience, all female supernaturals idolize witches. Isa invites them for orgies and drunken revelry, and they always try to seduce me. I scowl.
Leah twirls it in the air, then taps me on the shoulder.
I flinch and she laughs.
“It’s a children’s toy, Your Grumpiness.”
I let my lip curl. “That’s Imperator to you.”
Her smile is devilish. “Imperator,” she says breathily. My body stands at attention. One very specific part likes that tone of voice and wants to know if she’d still sound like that with her lips wrapped around it.
“Leah,” I growl. I back her slowly toward the bed. “You won’t like the consequences.”
She wags her brows. “I think I might.” She giggles, and I laugh and shake my head.
“Your turn. Concentrate. See if you can do better.” Her voice is merry, certain that I can’t top the pink wand. I can do better. I’ll show her who I really was before all the coffees and the cuddling.
I shut my eyes and think back to my favorite swords from my time in the arena. Dual-wielding is nearly as good as fangs when used correctly.
When she opens the box, she sucks in air.
I smile. “Very nice.”
“How are you going to wear—oh.”
I slide the harness over my shoulders and the swords into the straps. The familiar weight settles onto my back. Each sword is five feet of Damascus steel. They’re light, powerful, and balanced. I wielded these for centuries.
Leah’s eyes are big. Pride inflates my chest. “Scared, slayer?” I give her a smile I know will have her narrowing her eyes. “There’s an indent in the middle for the blood to run down. There’s a reason they called me the Bane of Rome.”
“Why is that hot?” she mutters. She runs a hand down her face. “There’s something seriously wrong with me.”
I chuckle. I will do anything to make her want me more.
Anything to force her to keep me, short of locking her in my house.
I finger one of the swords behind my back, knowing her gaze will go to my arms and my chest. I haven’t used my body to tempt a woman in a very long time. I’m not sure I even can.
But Leah’s lids go heavy, and her fingers rise to trace my stomach.
I smile inwardly. I woke this evening with renewed purpose.
I watched my mate set the wards around her house and I fed the unnamed cat bits of raw meat as any good predator should enjoy, and I schemed.
I might have agreed with Leah last night, but at the birth of a new night, with the birds chirping each other to sleep and the bread Leah baked steaming on the counter, I found myself unwilling to leave.
So what if I have eighty years? So what if I give up my vengeance?
I’ll give it up for her and I’m certain I won’t tire of being here.
I want to celebrate Hallow’s Eve with her and see what tricks the witches come up with and see Leah in what she claims is a very elaborate Halloween costume.
And later, after we’ve defeated my brother, I want to take it off her and feed from her and sleep with her against my chest where she belongs.
Her gaze turns speculative. Her mouth curves in a smile that says I won’t like what she’s about to do. She shuts the lid of the box, concentrates, and then opens it.
“No.”
She holds up the pile of leather. “For me, Marcus.” Her eyes are pleading. “Look, there are vambraces to match. It’s dual purpose.” She shakes the outfit temptingly. “Halloween costume and armor.”
“You want to see me in this?”
She clasps her hands, pushing her breasts distractingly high. “For me. It might be my last night on earth.”
I sigh. I’ll wear it. I cannot deny her anything. I yank the leather out of her hands and grumble, “Not if I have anything to say about it.”