Storm's Heart (Elder Races #2)(24)

“It’s never going to happen again,” he told her. “I swear it. I wish to God I had been there to prevent it from happening the first time. It sucks that I wasn’t. But I’m telling you now, faerie—it’s never going to happen again.”

She rested her cheek in the hollow above his sturdy collarbone. The thick muscles of his chest were tight, and she could feel the ridges of his bunched biceps as he wrapped his arms around her. He spoke with all the force of a vow as he cupped the back of her head, and she hid her face in his neck. She gave up thinking that’s impossible and instead gave herself over to his keeping.

Tiago sensed a presence. He turned his head to glare daggers at the doctor, who had come to check on them. The human male raised his hand with a sympathetic wince and backed out of sight. Tiago turned his attention back to the small bundle of misery he held with such tense protectiveness.

He put his cheek to her hair. The scent of cigarette smoke had faded, leaving the soft, silky black hair smelling of herbal shampoo, rain and woman. He pressed a kiss to the delicate contour of her temple.

What was it about her that got him so messed up? He had never paid that much attention to her other than to c**k an amused eyebrow at something she had said or done, or to shake his head whenever he saw yet another person fall victim to that indefinable, effervescent charm of hers.

Her wounded vulnerability—it was a scourge that raked underneath his skin, scoring him deep inside in places he hadn’t even known existed. His hand fisted in the hair at the back of her head.

The vengeful warlord in him longed to destroy Geril, except the Dark Fae male was already dead. Tiago wanted to cause somebody major structural damage, but there was no one to fight. The lack bewildered him. He had all this fury and nowhere to vent it. Heaven help any fool who might try another assassination attempt. Tiago would come down on them with all the force of the frustrated cataclysm he had pent up inside.

She was too exhausted to cry for long, as the fever continued to rack her with shivers. Tiago sat back on his heels when he felt her tremble. He took a knife from the leg pocket of his fatigues and cut the T-shirt off her body. Underneath, the little camo shirt with spaghetti straps was also the worse for wear, the area under her br**sts spotted with blood. He cut that away too, leaving her in the sports bra and those ludicrous shorts.

Then he carried her into the shadowed bedroom, tucked her into the large bed and hung the IV bag on the handle of the bedside lamp. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the hair off her forehead as she lay shivering under the covers, those large dark gray eyes glittering jewel-like under half-closed eyelids.

He called for the doctor, who came at once into the room to cast the cleansing spell. For several moments her body was filled with a strange tingling energy. It faded soon enough and left a bone-deep lethargy in its wake. It would take her body a little while to catch up to the fact that there was no more infection to fight off. The doctor left a couple of bottles of water on the bedside table and promised that he would check on her after she awakened. When he stepped out of the room, he left the bedroom door open a few inches, which threw a band of light across the foot of the bed.

Tiago stretched out on the covers beside her, the ever-present Glock near at hand on the table alongside the bottled water. “I’ll stay until you’re asleep,” he said, turning on his side so that he faced her.

For a panicked moment her overtired brain thought he meant he would actually leave when she was asleep, but it was too soon for him to go. She wasn’t ready to survive on her own yet. Then sanity caught up with her as he folded her hand in his. She nodded and let her eyes drift shut.

Tiago asked quietly, “Why are you doing this? Why did you insist on coming here earlier when I said I was taking you back to New York? It’s admirable you’re working to keep someone like Urien from taking the Dark Fae throne, but you’ve made it clear that you don’t really want to be Queen.”

She was silent for a long moment until he thought she had already fallen asleep. Then she said, “I don’t know if I can put it into words in the right way. I appreciate what you said outside, that Niniane didn’t die, she just went into hiding, and in a way you’re right. But in a way, I’m right too. Urien killed that teenage girl just as surely as he killed her family. Going back and claiming the throne is the only way I can get justice for her, and for her parents and brothers.”

He took a breath and squeezed her fingers tight. “Justice,” he murmured. He could understand that. “It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

She whispered, “I remember what happened like it was yesterday. That night hasn’t ended for me. I just learned to live around it.” She turned her head and looked into his dark eyes. “I have to put them all to rest. I have to bring to justice any of the Dark Fae who worked with my uncle, and help those he victimized like he victimized me. I don’t even want to do it, but I have to go back. I have to find peace or die trying.”

His Power mantled and covered her, a swift, invisible storm of protective Wyr male energy. He cupped her chin, a quick hard hold, his hawkish face turning blade sharp. “I don’t want to hear another word like that. You will wipe that from your mind and your vocabulary right now.”

His personality was too forceful, too much. It beat against her hypersensitive skin. She murmured, “Tiago.” That was all, just his name. She closed her eyes.