He washed, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, his past wouldn’t come clean. Too much had happened, too many people had died, and too many mistakes had been made. A shower wasn’t going to send it all down the drain.
Still, he savored the feel of hot water and soap suds sluicing down his body, washing away the blood and dirt the Slogthu nurse missed when he’d sponged Lore down. At least the wounds were healed. The lacerations had been closed internally with dissolving stitches, and though Eidolon had barely used his healing gift, it had been enough to seal the outer layer of skin and leave only the thinnest of shiny white scars. It had also knitted his ribs back together, and his shoulder felt good as new.
All in all, Lore was back in top form and ready to take out Kynan. With any luck, there wouldn’t be some crazy-hot female who smelled like sugar and spice around to get in his way this time.
Idess’s interference had been unfortunate, annoying, and… arousing. And how fucked up was that? She’d tried to snuff him, yet some twisted part of him found that to be one hell of a turn-on. Enough of one that she became the image in his mind as he fisted his cock and began to stroke. Usually his sessions were a matter of keeping his rage at bay, but for the first time in a long time, he was in need of a release for himself, not for his rage. Even AprilMayJune, like all the females before her, had been about the rage, and ultimately, she’d been nothing more than a means to an end.
But Idess… she was different, and in this hot fantasy, she was the sexy female on her knees in front of him. He could picture her gazing up at him, her eyes drowsy, lips swollen, the little hoop earring at the top of her right ear glinting in the light. He bit back a moan as he pumped his palm up and down his shaft, imagined it was Idess’s wet mouth doing the work. Fuck, yeah, she was good… so freaking good he couldn’t hold on, and when he came it was the best damned orgasm he’d had in decades.
When his legs stopped shaking, he finished with the shower, slung a towel around his hips, and went to his bedroom. He dressed in sweat shorts and a tee, and made a mental note to go shopping soon—he was down to his last leather jacket.
He padded barefoot into the living room, where the morning sun was just peeking through the window. Sin had come back, was sitting on the couch watching the Today Show, the bottle of moonshine and her glass balanced on the cushion next to her. Overhead, the ceiling fan spun in lazy circles that did nothing to ease the spring humidity.
Sin didn’t seem to notice the sticky breeze as she idly flipped one of her blades into the air and caught it with nimble fingers. She could hit a target in the eye from ten yards with those throwing knives. Not that she needed to kill that way; her dermoire gift was similar to his but more controlled, and she used it often.
She continued to toss the knife as he took a seat in the leather recliner at the end of the coffee table. “So, did you kick his ass?” Her words were slightly slurred. “The guy you got into the fight with?”
“It wasn’t a guy.”
“Well, I know you weren’t out tomcatting, so what happened?”
“Hey,” he said, offended. “I can tomcat. Did it just the other night.”
She snatched the knife out of the air and tossed it again. “Uh-huh.”
“Seriously.”
“You kill her?”
“A little.” He kicked his feet onto the coffee table. “But it wasn’t my fault. She was a mantis. Tried to eat me.”
Sin barked out a laugh. “Only you, bro. Only you.” She turned back to the TV and flipped off a guest talking about love and marriage. “So? The chick who kicked your ass hard enough to land you in the hospital?”
“She was defending my target,” Lore said carefully, because although the assignment was good news, he didn’t want Sin to know that her life could end if he failed.
“Freelance job?”
“No.”
She turned to him so fast he heard her neck crack. The blade in the air came down and embedded in the arm of the couch. “Are you serious? Lore? Are you fucking with me?” She hit the mute button on the remote, cutting off Ann Curry.
The rhythmic thump of his heartbeat in his ears filled the silence. “I’m dead serious.”
She squealed. His sister never squealed. “Oh, my God! I thought you’d say no. This is your hundredth, Lore. We’re almost free!” She splashed liquor into a shot glass with a shaky hand.
“Yup.”
“Okaaaay.” She put down her glass. “You don’t seem very excited.”
Shit. “I am. We’ve wanted this for decades, right?” Felt like centuries, though, since the day he’d agreed to a hundred kills in exchange for both his and Sin’s freedom.
“It’s the deadline, isn’t it?”
He blinked. “How do you know?”
“It was a guess, because I have one, too. A job. With an impossibly short deadline.”
Dread curdled the contents of Lore’s stomach. They’d never had to complete an assignment in under two weeks before. “What happens if you don’t make your deadline?”