Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [117]
“You saved Vulgrim’s life.” His voice was strained. “You killed for him.” He crossed to her in three strides and hauled her against him. “I’m so sorry you had to do that.”
“Ares,” she whispered, “there wasn’t any other option. I don’t regret it, and I’d do it again.”
He let out a ragged breath, scooped her up and took her to bed. As he laid her down, his gaze mapped and logged every one of her cuts and bruises, and smoldering anger joined his grief. “You need a doctor.” He swallowed. “And the agimortus—”
“I know.” It was dusky pink now, much lighter than it had been before Pestilence grabbed her. She patted the mattress. “Lie with me.”
“I need to shower first.”
She waited while he cleaned up, and then he joined her in bed, where, when he discovered her small gift, he stared at her. “A pillow?” He ran his hand over the silk cover, and she swore she saw a slight tremor in his fingers. “When? How?”
She braced herself on an elbow and watched him. She’d never tire of looking at him, of admiring his deeply tanned skin, his chiseled features, the ropey muscles that bunched and rolled as he moved. “After we rescued Hal. While you were fighting the demons with the Guardians. I asked Vulgrim to get a pillow for you.” She put her hand over his. “It’s not much, but I wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve to be comfortable when you sleep, Ares.”
He grabbed her, had her tucked up against him so fast she didn’t know what hit her. He said nothing, just held her, and instinct told her that was what he needed right now.
She drifted off, exhaustion and adrenaline crash making for a fine Valium. And if she could communicate with Hal…
She woke an hour later. She hadn’t dreamed of Hal, and Ares was gone.
Instantly, she leaped out of bed, only to have her legs go wet noodle on her. She caught herself on the chair, sparing herself a nasty fall. Damn, she was getting weak. Her entire body ached, and at some point, her skull had become a giant juicer, turning her brain into a throbbing, liquid muck.
As quickly as she could, which meant she was turtle-slow, she dressed in a pair of olive-drab capris that were a lot looser than they used to be and a blue button-down blouse that didn’t match; right now, fashion wasn’t her biggest concern.
Barefoot, she padded out to the great room, where Ares was standing in front of the fireplace, one hand braced on the mantel, head bowed so deeply his chin touched his chest.
“Ares? Are you okay?”
He didn’t look up, but he did let out a bitter laugh. “I should be asking you that.”
“I’m fine.”
Now he lifted his head, and she drew a startled breath at his red-rimmed eyes and his drawn expression. “You were taken prisoner, beaten, forced to kill, nearly forced to…” He trailed off, shook his head. “You are not fine.”
No, her time with Pestilence had not been pleasant. But she’d survived. She’d even fought him without breaking down into a screaming, bawling puddle. “I think,” she said softly, “that I should be the one to determine that.” She moved toward Ares, but he stepped away. “What’s wrong?”
He looked up at the ceiling fan, which was whirring madly. “I failed you. I failed Torrent.”
“There’s nothing you could have done for him. And maybe you don’t remember, but you got me away from Pestilence.”
“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” The venom in Ares’s voice made her recoil. “You got us out of my brother’s cell. I hung there like a slab of beef in a butcher’s locker.”
“I couldn’t have gotten away without you.” The agimortus etched into her chest joined the throbbing in her head, as if it wanted in on the conversation. “We did it together. And none of this would have happened if I’d transferred the agimortus in the first place.” She should have done it, and she’d regret that decision for the rest of her life… short as it might be.
“Stop blowing smoke up my ass!”
“Why are you acting like this?” She reached for him, but he wheeled away, jamming his hands through his hair and leaving them there as he began to