Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
“Where do you sleep?”
Cecilia leaned against the doorway. She’d showered and changed into her pajamas, a pair of soft pink flannel shorts and a button down shirt. It’d been good to take her time getting ready for bed, she thought, to give him a minute to process. To give her one, too.
Elves have mates. I’m his mate. If I want to be. What a trip.
It sure put a lot of things into perspective. She’d known folks who had mate drives and others who found themselves the fixation of them. Orcs, vampires, shifters, dragons — they all had their own special cocktails of urges that drove them absolutely batty for that one special person.
Sloane’s behavior sure fit that description. He denied it, but for all she knew, stalking and murder was part of the mating instinct package elves were saddled with. If so, it would make their keeping it under wraps make a lot of sense.
She’d always suspected they were a bunch of kinky little weirdos. No one that repressed turned out normal.
The man stood in the hallway outside the bedroom, his shoulders back and hands tucked behind him in that military stance.
She was pretty sure he’d changed into clean clothes, but it was honestly hard to tell since he seemed to own multiple versions of the same garments.
The only evidence that he was affected at all by what they’d done was the lack of modulator disguising his voice when he replied, “In the armory.”
Her brows drew together. “There’s a bed in there?”
“No,” he answered, “I rack out on the floor.”
“You rack out on the— You sleep on the floor?” Cecilia pointed in the direction of the living room. “Sloane, there’s a couch!”
He shook his head. “I can’t sleep in an unsecured location. The Battery is safe, but there are still windows.”
Understanding dawned. “You can’t relax when you feel exposed.”
“Correct.”
She looked around with fresh eyes. The serial killer bunker sure made more sense now that she possessed that little tidbit of information. There was still so much she didn’t know about him, but after tonight, Cecilia felt like she’d unlocked something essential.
Sloane was painfully, dangerously in love with her, and he was the single most vulnerable apex predator on the planet.
Guilt pierced her, though she knew it wasn’t entirely fair to feel it. She didn’t blame herself for being wary of him, seeing as he’d killed three men in front of her before he drugged and kidnapped her, but now that she knew him better, she didn’t like the thought of him sleeping on the floor.
Scuffing her bare heel against the cool floor, she offered, “Well, if you want… you could share the bed with me.”
Sloane made a funny half-step sort of motion, almost like he’d nearly lost his balance.
It was still thrilling to be able to hear his cautious tone when he said, “I would have to wear my helmet.”
“I don’t mind if you don’t.” Feeling weirdly embarrassed by her offer, she rocked back on her heels and looked away from that dark visor.
“You know what? It’s probably way too uncomfortable for you to do that.
Forget I said anything. I wasn’t thinking about what it would— I mean, I didn’t consider the, uh, limitations. Sorry.”
She didn’t hear him approach. Sloane moved like a damn cat in those heavy-duty boots. Cecilia had no idea he was there until he slipped his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up.
“It would be the greatest honor of my life to guard you while you sleep,” he rumbled. She’d never imagined there to be levity in his voice, or even insincerity, but to hear his seriousness completely unfiltered was a heady thing.
Sloane wasn’t just saying things. He wasn’t trying to charm her. If he said something that took her breath away, it was the raw, honest truth. She doubted he even knew how to lie to her, let alone flirt.
Insides turning to molten goo, she laid a hand on his chest. “Thanks, champ, but I don’t just want you to guard me. I want you to rest, too.”
“But—”
“Sloane, baby, are you really gonna tell me you won’t wake up the second there’s a weird sound in the house?”
“Of course I will,” he answered, obviously offended.
“Then it’s fine if you rest. There’s no danger.” Cecilia snagged his hand and began to pad backward, gently pulling him with her. “I trust you to protect me, but if this is gonna be anything between us, you’ve got to see me as something more than a target to protect, okay?”
Sloane let her tug him into the room with absolutely zero resistance. Sounding a touch uncertain, he argued, “You’re not just a target. You’re my consort.”
She was much more used to words like mate, wife, or partner. Consort would’ve sounded deeply pretentious if it weren’t for the reverence with which he used it.
“Right,” she whispered, battling a tide of butterflies that had taken over her stomach. “Well, your consort wants you to sleep with her. Really sleep.”
His head cocked. “Is that an order?”
The backs of her knees bumped the large mattress. Sitting down with a little bounce, she shrugged. “If it has to be.”
“Understood.”
Sloane sat stiffly beside her. He took a moment to rest his hands on his knees and take a deep breath before he began the oddly rehearsed process of stripping off his clothing.
Scooting back until she could bring her legs up and cross them, Cecilia watched him unlace his boots and carefully align them beside the bed — almost like he wanted them in the perfect position to step in.
His black, armored shirt went next. She ogled him shamelessly as he revealed his naked torso to her, showing off slabs of hard muscle and so much deliciously lickable purple skin. Sloane wasn’t built for vanity. His muscle was the thick kind that came from repeated motions and hard combat training.
It wasn’t pretty. It was deadly.
Her mouth went dry as he stood up to quickly and efficiently unclasp his belt, roll it, and set it on the nightstand that once held the lamp she’d hit him with. He’d left his gloves in the garage, which meant she got to watch his deft fingers handle his button and fly completely unobstructed.
Gods have mercy on me, she thought, if his hands are that hot, what is his face gonna do to me?
And then he dropped his pants.
Cecilia choked on nothing when his tight backside came into view. Covered in plain black briefs, aggressively spherical and dimpled on the sides, it was the single most perfectly sculpted ass she’d ever beheld.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, crawling forward to get a better look.
Sloane’s head turned to peer over his shoulder. “What?”
“Have you ever considered becoming an underwear model?”
He took a moment to respond. “I have not.”
“Well, you should,” she told him, eyeing his strong thighs.
Sloane crouched down to pick up his pants. Folding them in a precise series of movements before setting them on the nightstand beside the sparkly urn that contained her dead cat, he gravely replied, “I will consider it.”
Cecilia couldn’t smother a giggle. It got even worse when he turned around to face her in nothing more than his skivvies and that sinister helmet.
Sloane’s helmet tilted to one side. “You’re amused. Why?”
Scooching backward, Cecilia tucked herself under the covers between bouts of giggles. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really cute, Sloane?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame.” She patted the space beside her. “I’m pretty sure you’re a sweetheart. You should be called cute at least once a week. Probably more.”
Sloane crouched low to crawl onto the bed. It shifted sharply under his greater weight, but he still managed to move with all the grace of a big cat as he slipped under the covers. “I… don’t know the appropriate response to that.”
Cheeks cramping a little, she flopped back into the pillows. “That’s okay. I don’t mind if you don’t always know the right thing to say to me. No one knows the right thing to say all the time, anyway.”
Sloane’s helmet settled on the pillow beside hers. In a quiet voice, he challenged, “You do.”
Pulling the comforter up over her shoulder, she watched the way the twinkle lights gleamed off the curve of his helmet. He lay flat on his back, his hands folded on his middle and his legs perfectly straight. He looked a bit like an alien trying to fool her into believing he slept.
Despite the strangeness of it, she was comfortable. More than comfortable.
Sloane smelled like leather and musk and clean soap. His body heat immediately began to permeate the bedding, tantalizing her.
Aware that he was almost certainly not a cuddler, she resisted the urge to glue herself to his side and suck up his warmth like a little snuggle vampire.
“You think I’m pretty great, don’t you?” she asked, not to fish for compliments but to hear his honest response.
“I do,” he answered.
Cecilia’s giddiness dimmed a little. Letting out a slow exhale, she dared to touch one corded bicep with the tips of her fingers.
“I’m just a regular person, Sloane. I’m glad you think I’m special, but I don’t think it’s right to worship me.
” She shook her head against the pillow.
“I’m kind of a mess, actually. Always have been.
Even my own parents didn’t think I was worth much.
The only person who likes me even half as much as you is Dahlia. ”
Sloane didn’t move when she touched him, but she was fascinated by the way the muscles of his arm twitched and shivered with even her slightest touch.
She did it again, just to see, when she explained, “Not to get into the meat and potatoes of my trauma or anything, but my parents really hated each other. Don’t ask me why they stayed married because I honestly don’t know.
But suffice it to say I spent most of my childhood trying to fix what was broken and failing.
That meant my parents didn’t really… well, they weren’t very focused on me. ”
“Is this the reason you want to teach young?”