Dark Desires After Dusk (Immortals After Dark #6)(70)

“Not only because of what you said.” She dipped the cloth again, wringing it over his chest.

By the time the flask was empty, his skin was finally free of any blue tint and had begun regenerating before her eyes. By morning he should be completely healed.

Reminded of her own injury, she unraveled the makeshift bandage over her arm. Then stared in astonishment. The skin was already mending.

If I chose to stay a Valkyrie, I could keep this healing ability . . . .

She frowned. Or I could be burned alive by demons because I’m the Vessel.

“I think you’re all clear,” she said. “Let’s get you to bed.” She helped him stand, then held his swaying form steady as she wrapped a towel around his waist—not that he was modest. The only thing he seemed discomfited about was being injured.

“Can you sit upright?” she asked when they reached the bed.

“One of the first things . . . I learned as a pup.”

“Okay, I’m going to get a compress for your forehead.” Yet, as soon as she released him, he collapsed back on his burns, hissing in a breath. “Cadeon! Here . . . ,” she said, helping him stretch out over the length of the mattress, then drawing a sheet to his waist.

When she returned with her ice water and cloth, he was mumbling in Demonish, seeming out of his head.

Was it the delirium from his injuries making him this way, or the demon brew taking effect? Or both? “Cadeon, are you drunk?”

“Blot—to.”

She wondered how he’d feel if she took advantage of his drunkenness. Her eyes widened. I should! She had so many questions about this male. The more she thought about it, the more she realized he’d divulged very little about himself.

And he had done this to her first. Turnabout’s fair play.

She sat beside him. “Cadeon, can you hear me?”

He didn’t open his eyes. “Nothing wrong . . . with my ears.”

“Of course, not.” She laid the cloth on his forehead. “So . . . you and Tera seemed close.”

“Been through a lot.”

“Was she your girlfriend?”

He gave a laugh that sounded more like a grunt. “Not at all.”

“And you really didn’t sleep with Imatra?”

“Bloody hell, noooo, I didn’t . . . She’s a slag.”

“Then why did you kiss her?” Holly asked.

“Directions . . . and to see.”

“To see what?”

“That it wouldn’t be all that bad without you.”

This was interesting. “Did you make a determination?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “It’ll be all that bad.”

Oh, Cadeon. “You’ve known I was your female for a year?” He nodded. “Why would I be chosen for you?”

“Fate decides . . . who I can be most satisfied with.”

Nibbling her lip, she asked, “Have you slept with anyone else since you knew it was me?”

“Gave a halfhearted try for a witch . . . she wanted a werewolf instead.”

There was no getting around it—Holly was jealous of the witch.

But then Cadeon said, “And I wanted you.”

She dipped the cloth, then gently returned it to his head. “Why did you never approach me, or tell me even days ago?”

“Can’t have a human for my own . . . forbidden. They never survive the claiming.”

“Claiming? You mean the first time for sex?” He nodded. “What happens that’s so dangerous?”

“I’d go all the way demonic. I’d bite you . . . stun you. Keep you steady while I come in you.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know if she was horrified or titillated by this information. Again, she was reminded that he was a demon, a different species from her. “Then wouldn’t you want me to stay Valkyrie? So I could survive it?” Why would he be helping her reverse the change?

He grew quiet. “Not going to claim you anyway. Know this.”

“Why do you know this?”

“Only in my mind.”

Seeing he wouldn’t reveal more on the subject, she asked, “Were you jealous of my relationship with Tim?”

“Wanted to kill the prick . . . not good enough for you.”

“But you are?”

“Nah . . . wish I was,” he said. “You can do better than a mercenary.”

“But aren’t you also a prince?”

He went motionless. “Of a lost crown . . .” In a derisive tone, he said, “I can put any king on a throne, ’cept for the one I lost.”

“What throne did you lose?”

He exhaled a long breath. “Rydstrom’s.”

Her eyes went wide. “How?”

His voice grew hoarse and even his accent changed when he murmured, “My fault. Mine own doing.”

“How could it be your fault?”

“Mistake. The one who controls the castle . . .”

“What does that mean?”

“They all died.”

“Who, Cadeon?” No response. “Does Rydstrom blame you for losing his throne?”

“He does . . . always has. He should.”

Anger flared within her. Had his older brother—the king—been making Cadeon’s life miserable for nine hundred years? “Why do you still talk to him? Why live on his property? Why be half of the Woede?”