Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [107]
Cara and Ares showered quickly. Well, it might have been quicker if Ares hadn’t insisted on washing her, which led to another couple of orgasms for both of them. There had been a desperate, intense quality to what they’d done, as if Ares had been starving and was trying to fill up.
Or as if he’d been gorging because he didn’t know if they’d ever do it again.
The thought niggled at her as she tugged on the jeans and blouse Ares had brought from her place. This transfer couldn’t be anything but good, right? She would no longer be dying, so she and Ares could… could what? He wouldn’t need to protect her, and they’d both admitted they didn’t do “close,” so why would she be around?
Despite the depressing thoughts, she watched Ares dress, admiring his body, the way his muscles rippled under tan, taut skin. Her own muscles ached, but in that lovely, well-used way that would remind her with every step that she’d had the best sex of her life.
He turned to her, his black tee stretching over shoulders so wide that with his armor on he had a hard time getting through doorways. He walked over to her, his gait purposeful but unhurried, and she felt her own body loosen in response, as if anticipating his touch. Sensuality oozed from him even when he wasn’t trying—he was living, breathing, sex.
His smile was tense as he reached for her blouse and began to button it. “I’ll help.”
“I think I can manage,” she said, but she let him.
He worked his way up, his nimble fingers brushing her skin—intentionally, she was sure, and despite all the sex they’d had, the thrum of desire began to buzz through her veins. He paused about halfway to trace the tip of his finger over the agimortus, which had faded again. They’d both noticed in the shower, and although she didn’t feel any different, the mirror had told another story.
Raccoon circles framed her eyes, and her cheeks were gaunt, her skin pale. Even her ribs were showing, as if she were slowly starving to death.
“It’ll be gone in a few minutes,” Ares murmured.
“I can’t wait. I know it’s only been a few days, but it feels like I’ve been under a death watch for a year.” She hadn’t really admitted, even to herself, that she’d been terrified she’d never be rid of the mark, but now she could feel that pressure draining like a lanced blister. “It’s weird though, because I’m only realizing how afraid I was right now.”
“You’ve been in survival mode,” Ares said, his expression taking on a serious cast. “I’m sorry, Cara. You should never have been dragged into this.” He finished buttoning her up. “But it’s almost over. If we can keep the fallen angel contained and safe, we can keep my Seal from breaking. And you’re bonded to an immortal hellhound, so you should have several hundred years of life in you.” A flush worked its way up his throat from his collar to his forehead. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of and safe from Pestilence.”
“Wait.” Her fingers automatically went to the agimortus, which throbbed through the fabric of her shirt. “If I’m no longer branded with your mark, why would Pestilence be a danger?” And what did he mean by making sure she was taken care of?
“He might try to hurt me through you.”
“Oh, great. So I still won’t be safe.”
He hauled her roughly against him, knocking the breath from her lungs. “You will be safe, Cara. If I have to hide you on the other side of the world, I swear you’ll be safe.” He kissed her, a hot pledge to back up his words.
Before she could even catch her breath, he took her hand and led her out of the bedroom.
They entered the great room, and Cara’s optimistic mood faltered. The fallen angel sat on the floor, shoulders slumped, bloodied, his perfect skin bruised. Dark, stringy hair hung in his face. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a beaten dog. Except that his pewter eyes were molten with defiance.
On the television, explosions rocked the room through the stereo system. Every time someone screamed, the fallen angel jerked and bared