Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(85)

Suds slipped down his chest and shoulders, and spread over the water’s surface.

Scooping up fragrant handfuls, he washed her all over, relishing the feel of her silken wet skin and slippery body. Her breasts filled his hands beautifully. Obsessed with touching her, he massaged them and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, watching the plump, succulent peaks of flesh pebble under his touch. She stopped washing his hair and held his hands against her, her eyelids drifting closed as she let him play with her.

The arousal was there—it couldn’t help but be there. She was too vital, too sexy, and he wanted her too much. His hard cock brushed against the side of her thigh. But he ignored it. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers.

Her eyes opened. When she saw the look on his face, she asked softly, “What is it?”

He looked at her soberly. “Did Diego say anything to you before he died?”

Her mouth tightened. “Yes. He was working with Justine. He said he thought she wanted you to come into the city so she could try something in Evenfall. He said he wouldn’t have done it, if he’d known we were going to be attacked, and he said he was sorry.”

His eyes grew damp.

Her tired expression changed drastically, and she straddled him to wrap her arms around his neck, embracing with such fierceness, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held on.

He pressed his face against her. “I’d known for a while he wasn’t happy. I should have done something sooner. I should have talked to him.”

“Don’t you dare try to make what happened your fault,” she whispered.

“But it is partly my fault, querida,” he said. “I should have seen this coming.”

“No. I don’t buy it.” She shook her head and told him in a harsh voice, “Lots of people get restless, and they might not be entirely satisfied with their lives, but that doesn’t mean they go out and betray someone, or put somebody in danger. They cope with what’s in their lives. That’s what adults do. Diego knew Justine was dangerous, but he made a deal with her anyway. He had perfect health, and he was strong and smart. He could have gone anywhere or done anything else, or he could have just hung out and enjoyed his easy job and the sunshine. But instead of counting up all the good things he had going for him, he was greedy, lazy and selfish.”

As she fell silent, he said against her skin, “I guess you have strong feelings about it.”

“I guess I do,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, but if he wasn’t already dead, I’d probably shoot him myself.”

He didn’t want to smile, but he did anyway. She was bloodthirsty, his Tess, and he discovered he liked that very much.

“Thank you,” he said, more seriously. “Your words mean more than I can say. I’ll have to think about this. It may take me a while to put what happened to rest.”

“That’s because you like to think about things.” She scowled. “Me, I like numbers. They’re so much easier to understand than people.”

She looked so adorable he had to kiss her. When he did, her lips felt so amazing, he had to deepen the kiss. He slanted his mouth over hers, again and again, eating at her like a starving man who had been brought to a banquet.

Throughout every moment of the fight, he had known where Tess was. No matter how far away he had gone—yards away, to either end of the alley—he had obsessively tracked every movement she had made.

He had known when she had stepped out of the SUV and crouched between the limited shelter of the two open doors. He had tracked every time she had brought up her rifle and shot, and he had been very aware of the moment she chose to slip around the rear passenger door to Diego, because that had left her exposed to an attack from behind the SUV.

He had changed his fighting strategy accordingly, shifting his attention to the attackers coming up from the rear, because none of those bastards were going to get near her. Not while he was around to have anything to say about it.

And he had known when Diego had gotten shot. Even through the firefight and other sounds of battle, because of his extraordinary hearing—and because of the bond that existed between patron and attendant—he had been all too aware of Diego’s struggle for breath in those last few moments of his life.

Maybe he could have gotten back to the SUV in time to save Diego. A strong influx of Vampyre blood might have stopped the internal bleeding. Maybe they could have held back their attackers through firepower alone.

It had been a judgment call. Decisions in fighting were always judgment calls.

But in the space of a few fleeting moments, he had decided against it. He had traded the possibility of saving Diego’s life for the certainty of saving Tess.

And if he had to do it all over, he would do it again. In the deepest privacy of his soul, down at the bottom of a well where no one else could hear him, the part of him that had weighed life and death decisions over the last several hundred years took her life and weighed it against all else.

Life became simple from that point on, because Tess had to live. No matter who else died, or how much damage he had to inflict on the world around him—Tess had to live.

“Come on,” she whispered against his mouth. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“And you,” he murmured. He sank one hand into her damp hair and tightened it into a fist. “I’m not letting you go this time.”