Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [69]
“Yes. And sleep. I wouldn’t die from lack of either, but both Battle and I can weaken or rage out.” He frowned. “Speaking of which…” His fingers tugged at the hem of the hockey jersey, lifting it up to expose her abdomen.
“Hey!” She grabbed his wrists before he revealed much more. “What are you doing?”
“Checking the agimortus. Remember that I said it will fade with time?”
Right. It was a virtual hourglass. A big, fat lump of dread plopped into her stomach, and suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. “I’ll do it.” Her hand shook as she hooked the neckline and pulled it out. But she couldn’t bring herself to look down.
Ares knew, and as gently as if her hand were a hummingbird, he eased it away. The rasp of his knuckles was barely a whisper on her skin as he took the hem, but it made her heart beat faster, and when the cool air kissed her breasts, her pulse went out of control with both trepidation and excitement.
For a long time, he didn’t look. He remained focused on her face, the intensity in his black eyes taking her breath. His lips parted, just barely, and she wondered what he’d do if she leaned in and kissed him.
Abruptly, his gaze dropped. His harsh inhale was the only sound in the room. Even Battle, who had been snorting in the background, went silent. Ares’s lids grew heavy, his nostrils flaring.
“You are magnificent.” His voice was rough, raspy, and she forgot all about the mark that was a countdown to her death.
Ares tugged the shirt down, and with great care, he lifted her. In his arms, she felt small, feminine, and safe. Yes, he had a duty to keep her alive, but all this time it had been about protecting the agimortus, not her. Now she sensed a shift in him, as if he’d suddenly seen the person instead of the object on her chest.
Battle came forward and pressed his forehead into hers.
“You’ve made a hell of an impression,” Ares said, his words still scraping gravel. “Battle hates everyone.” He shouldered the beast out of the way. “Leave her alone, you big lunk.”
“Where are you taking me?”
Ares didn’t spare her a glance as he strode across the room. “To bed.”
The way Cara went taut when Ares announced his intentions was both amusing and insulting. He planned to put her to bed, not bed her. Not that he didn’t want to. The altercation with Pestilence had taken the edge off, but the desire to lose himself in female flesh was still burning like a pitch-soaked torch.
And with Cara in his arms, it wasn’t just any female flesh. He wanted the human even more than before. What she’d done for Battle, knowing the cost to herself and after everything she’d been through recently, earned both his gratitude and his respect. She’d had a hellish introduction to his world, but after a shaky start, she was pulling it together.
How many humans could have accepted as much as she had in so little time? Hell, it had taken Ares decades to come to grips with the reality of the paranormal realm.
Though it was clear that Cara wasn’t as new to it as she wanted to believe. The power she wielded was obviously something she’d been dealing with for a long time, so she’d had an inkling, even if it had been buried, that there was more to life than what most humans knew. And with Battle out of danger, he was curious about the human she’d killed.
But he couldn’t ask about it now. She was too weakened from the healing, and she would have enough to deal with when she discovered that the agimortus had faded. Just a shade, but when every change was another shovelful of grave dirt, it was a blow.
He’d covered his reaction, had let himself admire her perfect breasts, her flawless skin, her narrow waist, and in a heartbeat, he’d felt a wrenching reversal in his emotions. It shouldn’t have happened—he’d cut himself off from tender feelings a long time ago. But something about this woman was hell on his instincts, and he liked it as much as he cursed it.
Caring about her would be stupid. Either she was going to die soon, or she’d transfer the agimortus and still die. If Pestilence