Somehow, she knew she could trust him about that.
“Ohhhhh . . .”
As Nyx stepped down into the pool, the sensation of perfectly warm, gently moving water against her body was a revelation sure as if she’d never been in a bath before. It was all just so unexpected, though. The depth. The temperature—which she wouldn’t have adjusted up or down. The movement of the currents.
The fact that this was happening at all.
“Feel good?” Jack commented in a low voice.
“Yes.”
His head nodded. “It has saved me. Many a time.”
Splaying out her arms, Nyx cupped and released undulations within the pool.
Don’t do it, she thought. Don’t ask.
“From what,” she said.
The Jackal tried to imagine what she looked like submerged in what he thought of as his property, his domain. There were other pools in the prison, common-use ones that the confined dropped themselves into from time to time—or were thrown into—but this one was his. If his cohorts, such as Kane or the others, partook on occasion? He always regarded it as a courtesy extended by himself to them.
Her dark hair would be loose, the ends drifting over the gentle, churning surface of the pool, and he imagined that tendrils would begin to curl up around her face. Her cheeks would flush, although they’d already been colored by arousal. Her skin would become dew’d and dreamy.
Not that it wasn’t like that all by itself.
How much explanation do I owe a stranger? he thought as he contemplated her question.
“This prison is a dirty place.” He rubbed his face as he answered her inquiry not at all. “Very dirty. It’s hard to stay clean.”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“I have no idea what you refer to.”
To give his words some credibility, he glanced over his shoulder at her. She was focused on him, and he’d been right about the curls that were forming around her face. Also about the blush. But her expression was not as relaxed as he’d pictured in his mind. She was intense, and he had the sense that he had opened a door before he had properly assessed whether he actually wanted to go through it.
Then again, that had happened way before now with her, hadn’t it.
“You will let me fuck you,” he asked in a low voice. “Really.”
Her eyes narrowed, but not because she was offended. And her lack of anticipated reaction made him realize he had phrased the question in a crude way because he had hoped that would be the case.
“The question is more whether you’ll let yourself fuck me,” she said. “Tell me, who is she.”
He whipped his head away from her. “There is no one for me.”
“Liar.” She laughed a little. “And you can be honest. It’s not like whatever you tell me is going anywhere. I don’t know anyone here and I’m not staying. Besides, we’re strangers.”
When he said nothing further, she cursed softly. “Come on, what else do we have to do but talk for the next eight hours? Or is it ten? Of course, I’d had other plans for how to spend the time.”
“Oh, really. And what were they?”
“Having sex with you seemed like a good way to pass the time.”
“Just some casual exercise,” he muttered. Then again, he should be used to that, right?
“Like it’s anything else on your side?”
“And that doesn’t bother you.”
“Oh, so we’re back to the virtuous female stuff, are we.” She exhaled long and slow. “I believe in living in the moment. That’s all I can say on that one.”
“I did not lie,” he said in the quiet between them. “There is no female for me.”
He watched her play with the water, moving her hands through it. “Did she die? Did you have a shellan and she died?”
“I have never been mated, and I never will be.”
“Why’s that?”
“I believe that is self-evident.” He motioned around. “We are in a prison, remember?”
“So how old were you when you came in. And how long until you—”
“It’s a lifetime sentence. For now, at any rate.”
“What did you do?”
“We don’t ask those questions down here.”
“Well, I’m a foreigner in these parts. As you like pointing out all the time.”
When she lowered her eyes to the water, he waited for her to say something, to challenge him. Instead, she remained silent, and it occurred to him that she needed to answer her own question for him.
“And you?” he said. “Mated?”
“Hell, no.” She threw her head back and laughed. “No.”
That was good. It meant he didn’t have to kill another male. Well, at least not because they were with her—
Groaning at his misplaced territoriality, he put a hand to his temple.
“If I ask you again if you’re all right, ” she said, “do I get to listen to another defensive monologue on how great you’re feeling?”
“No. I think I’ll spice it up and describe the pounding headache you give me.”
“Oh, my God. You made a joke.”
Dropping his hand, he sent a glare her way—and promptly lost the surge of anger. From over in the pool, she was smiling at him, her lips lifted at the corners, her eyes twinkling. His heart stopped. And then redoubled its beat. She was sexy when she was mad. And infuriating the rest of the time. But like this?
Her brows lowered and she pursed her mouth. “What.”
When he didn’t reply, she frowned. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”
Lowering his eyes, he said softly, “I have not seen the sun since before my transition. Can you blame me for staring.”
Twas an infection that ended up grounding Rhage, and he was woefully disappointed in his body’s failure of resolve when it came to the wound on his side. The other three places of lead invasion and operation had healed suitably well. The one under his ribs, however, insisted upon lingering, a houseguest with annoying habits and a pervasive lack of urgency about its departure.
And thus he lay upon Jabon’s guest bed, in the gentlemale’s guest room, and was waited upon incessantly. All of his needs were looked after. Food, drink, ablutions, clothing. Sex and blood. He had the sense that had he required someone to breathe for him, that function would have been taken up readily by the staff. Indeed, it seemed churlish not to greet such attention with effusive gratitude, but dearest Virgin Scribe, he could not wait to return unto his humble abode and the resonant solitude therein.
How he craved an utter lack of company.
Plus it was not as if the staff had nothing else to do. There were plenty of opportunities for the household’s doggen to offer service unto other guests. There were quite a number of females and males tarrying under Jabon’s roof. Rhage could hear them walking the halls and catch their scents in the draft that came under his closed door. Further, there was much conversation on either side of his accommodations. The mansion seemed more hotel than home, and things were never quiet, never still. Not during daylight. Not during mealtime. Certainly, not during the parties that seemed to be held every eve.
One had to wonder the point of such a vacuous, consumptive existence. Then again, Jabon was unmated, and there had been some gossip, not that Rhage particularly cared, that the male’s sire and mahmen were dead. Therefore, it appeared as though the aristocrat was buying his family, his hospitality the currency he used to secure his purchase of affection, constancy, and support—
The knock was soft and respectful. And Rhage gritted his teeth. In the beginning, he’d assumed the staff were just ascertaining whether he breathed or not. Now, he believed they were providing him greater attention over any reasonable standard because they’d been instructed of his affiliation. Members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood were of higher social standing than even Founding Families. Jabon, well versed in the exigencies of hosting, clearly saw the accommodation of such a warrior as an enhancement unto his social standing, and therefore, someone to whom he intended on providing every possible courtesy.
With the aid of every single doggen on Earth.
“Aye,” Rhage said sharply. Because if he did not reply, they would return again and again.
The door cracked. And a face peered in that he did not expect.
“Darius, whate’er you do?” he said.
The brother stepped forth and closed himself in. ’Lo, what a sight for sore eyes. The brother’s familiar face was like moonlight after a long period of clouds, a beacon. Unsurprisingly, he was not dressed for war, but had taken care to be in fine civilian garb. However, there would be weapons all over him, hidden beneath the fine blue wool of his perfectly cut evening suit.
Rhage could not wait to hold a dagger once again.
“How fare thee?” Darius asked.
“Would you be so kind as to remove me of these premises?”
“Are the accommodations not to your liking?” Darius glanced around the luxurious room. “I have heard you are quite well tended to. Jabon sends me a missive each night detailing your care. He provides me with details I could well do without.”
“I would seek to free up this bed so that it may be promptly filled by another. Others should share this bounty.”
“How considerate of you,” Darius said with a chuckle. “But I have spoken with Havers.”
“Oh.” Rhage pulled the sheets higher on his bare chest. “However is he? Well, I hope.”
“You believe I wasted inquiry upon his life? Truly.”
“Fine. What did he say over my condition.”
“You are as yet unhealed of a sufficiency to be released of your burdens herein. I am afraid you must continue to stay abed and be waited on hand and foot.”
Rhage groaned as he sat up, but he did manage to take his torso higher upon the pillows. “I am finished with this, regardless of what the healer says—”