‘Good to know.’ The words came out much softer than she’d intended, but part of her was surprised she could speak at all. Her heart thudded. At least Creek couldn’t hear it. She told herself to pull her hand out of his. Nothing happened.
‘Don’t be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.’ He glanced at her, his face earnest.
She shook her head. Or nodded. She had no idea. There was a wildness about him that frightened her as much as Mal’s steely control. He let go of her hand. She looked down for a moment and when she raised her head, he was there. His mouth on hers. Warm and soft and—
Before she could respond to his kiss, he pulled away, stood up, and walked toward the motorcycle. ‘You’re right. Time for you to go home.’
Chapter Twenty
Chrysabelle was home. Mal could hear the rhythm of her pulse beneath the swooshing palms and the chorus of nocturnal insects. It was faster than her resting heart rate. Maybe she was training. That was a good sign. If she was training, she was okay. Still, he hesitated to knock. She’d be mad he’d climbed the privacy wall and circumvented her security. Or maybe she’d be mad he’d demanded she run from the Nothos. Or maybe she’d still be steamed about him fighting in the Pits or drinking her blood or a whole host of other things he could think of. She was good at being mad at him. Drain her, then.
They were good at being mad at each other.
But right now, he couldn’t think of a single reason to be anything but concerned. All he could think of was finding out if she’d been hurt by the Nothos. Or that whack job Creek. Kubai Mata. Did he also moonlight as the tooth fairy?
Mal walked to her door and knocked.
Predictably, Velimai answered. With her usual cold glare, she studied him for a moment. Then shut the door.
Cursing under his breath, he knocked again. ‘Velimai, get Chrysabelle.’
The bothersome fae opened the door and shook her head. Her hands and fingers flew.
He held a palm up. ‘You know I can’t understand a word you’re signing.’
Velimai rolled her eyes and disappeared into the house, leaving the door open. She returned, writing on a tablet with a stylus. Her mood didn’t seem to have improved. She turned the tablet so he could read what she’d written on the screen.
Chrysabelle is resting. Cannot be disturbed. Go home.
So. Not training. Not good. ‘No. I need to see her. She won’t mind being disturbed, trust me.’ Or maybe she would. But she’d get over it. He needed to know she was okay. You need her blood.
Velimai hugged the tablet to her chest and shook her head.
‘You’re not the only one who can yell.’ Mal glared back. ‘You want me to wake her up my way? Then you can explain why you didn’t go and get her in the first place.’
Velimai flipped him a sign he understood perfectly and walked away in the opposite direction. Hopefully to get Chrysabelle.
A hundred hours later, Chrysabelle appeared, skin as pale as the big white robe she was wrapped in, hair loose around her face, and dark circles beneath her eyes. She moved tentatively, like she was in pain. Even at this distance he felt her body temp was off. Too high. He was relieved she was alive and upright, but her condition left a lot to be desired. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Can we go out to the lanai?’ The words were strained.
‘Sure.’ He could argue a thousand other days to be let in. ‘Meet you there.’
It took her ten minutes longer to join him than it should have. She delicately sat onto one of the chaise longues, then eased her feet up and patted the cushion. ‘Sit.’
Bite. He did as she asked, welcoming the closeness and instantly wishing for more. ‘What happened?’
She smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’ She reached out and squeezed his hand, knocking his mental balance into a dark crevasse. Her touch made the voices howl.
‘Thank you. And likewise.’ Except she clearly wasn’t okay. ‘Please tell me what happened. Two Nothos got away from me. I know they went after you.’ If he was lucky, they’d eaten Creek for dinner. Or you could.
With a sigh, she rested her head against the chaise’s high back. ‘That’s why I wasn’t sure if you were all right. They found us.’
Us, she’d said. Like she and Creek were a couple. He looked away long enough to force the calm back onto his face. ‘Then what happened?’
‘We fought them. Killed them. We both got wounded, but I took the brunt of it.’
‘You should wear that body armor of yours from now on.’
She glanced down and adjusted her robe. ‘That wouldn’t make it very comfortable for you to be around me.’
That she would care about that detail raised a sense of satisfaction in him. ‘I’ll deal. How badly were you hurt?’
‘I needed a few stitches. Still working the Nothos poison out of my system, which, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is why I’m running a little hot and fast.’
‘How many is a few?’
‘Enough to close me up.’
‘How many?’
Her expression darkened. ‘I think around seventy.’
The sensation drained out of his extremities. ‘Seventy. Seven zero.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Son of a priest.’ The beast inhaled. The scent of blood was strong. But so was another scent. ‘Who gave you those stitches?’
‘Who do you think?’