Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(75)

Her lashes fluttered. Lifted. He stared down into emerald green. His heart did a curious melting thing that left him speechless. She shook her head, the tip of her tongue touching her lips.


“No broken bones,” she managed to croak out.


“I have to make certain,” he said gently.


“My bones are too soft to break.”


He stared down at her beautiful face. Bruises were coming up around her throat. On her cheek. Her voice sounded raspy, but she seemed certain. He touched his fingers to her swollen throat. “I didn’t like seeing him doing this to you, Cayenne. Fucking hated it. I don’t think I can go through that again. You might have to wrap yourself in a little cocoon where only I can get to you. I’m going to be having nightmares for weeks. Months maybe.” He made the confession in a low, shaky voice.


His voice never shook. She had done something to him, and he didn’t know how to undo it. He didn’t even want to try. The intellectual part of his brain, which was the largest part of him, continued to tell him he’d been paired with her. That such strong feelings for her were a result of being alone too long. Loneliness. A longing for what Wyatt had. The trouble was, even if all those things were true, he didn’t care.


“Baby, I’m going to have to look at your body, see what damage he did. I saw him stick you with a knife.”


I need to sleep.


“You can sleep, but don’t bite me when I take off your clothes. I’m not going to do anything to you but look after you.” His fingers smoothed back her hair, liking the way it made a dark cloud across his pillow. He’d dreamt of that thick mass, shiny black across his pillow, his fingers delving deep to find the source of those beautiful red strands with their unique pattern.


I’m too tired to bite anyone, she whispered into his mind. But I need to go downstairs. This is too open for me. I need… smaller. Protection.


He looked around his room. It was very large. Huge. He needed space. Lots of it. He liked to see what was coming at him. He had several escape routes scattered through the walls, floor and ceiling.


“I can protect you.”


The lashes fluttered. Raised. Her beautiful green eyes sent a wicked punch straight to his gut. I can’t relax like this.


“Spin your webs around the bed. Make us a veil, baby. I’d like that, a canopy over our bed. Do you have enough strength to do that?”


She studied his face, her eyes brooding. Thoughtful. A little frightened. She knew what he wanted. Her. In his bed. More of a commitment.


“Baby. I need this. You. Here. With me. I need this.” He admitted it aloud to her, trying to show her. Trying to give her that vulnerable part of him to make up for being a complete bastard. After watching her nearly die right in front of him, he needed to have her close. “I wouldn’t fit in your bed. I’m too tall. Weigh too much. All muscle, babe, which is good part of the time but not so good in that little bed you curl up in.”


You put the bed down there.


“My mistake. I didn’t think you’d be down there long and I was trying…” He trailed off. He’d tried to duplicate her cell in some ways, in order for her to subconsciously accept the apartment as her home. A good first step in accepting the place as home and then him as belonging to her.


He held her eyes to allow her to see the complete vulnerability in him. The stark, raw need. He knew it showed. There was no hiding that deep of a need. It came from a place of terror, something he hadn’t experienced since the first gunshot rang out in his childhood home. That nightmare was far too close, pressing on him, the loss of the ones he loved. He’d let her in. He needed her now.


She nodded slowly. It will take a few minutes.


“I’ll get ready for bed. Leave a route to the bathroom.” If she was feeling better later in the night, they’d need it. He didn’t say that, but he turned away from her, not giving her the opportunity to change her mind. He hurried into the bathroom and shed his clothes, took care of business, concentrating on keeping his heartbeat as steady as possible.


He’d planned out his battle strategy, trying to find ways he thought would appeal to Cayenne to lure her into staying during and after renovations of the only building she had been able to call home there in the swamp. His biggest hurdle was gaining her trust. As far as he could see, she’d never had a reason to trust anyone. He could see that in her eyes when she looked at him – her defenses working right behind all that green. Her fear. She was drawn to him, compelled to be close to him, but trusting him was an altogether different proposition. He knew the fact that she wanted to give him that was half the battle. If he could keep his terror – and his reaction to it – under control, he’d have a better chance.


When he walked out from the bathroom, stark naked, his room had been transformed. He stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the lacy, artistic design shrouding his bed. Floor-to-ceiling silk formed a heavy veil, with feelers running through the room, along the walls and creeping out the door. A web covered the two entrances. Neither of those was ornate, not like the beautiful one wrapping up his bed. She’d created a tunnel for them between the bathroom and the bed and he stood upright in it. The fact that he could meant she’d calculated the height and width of the passageway so he could walk easily. He loved that she could do that. Fucking loved it.