He had known when she had stepped out of the SUV and crouched between the limited shelter of the two open doors. He had tracked every time she had brought up her rifle and shot, and he had been very aware of the moment she chose to slip around the rear passenger door to Diego, because that had left her exposed to an attack from behind the SUV.
He had changed his fighting strategy accordingly, shifting his attention to the attackers coming up from the rear, because none of those bastards were going to get near her. Not while he was around to have anything to say about it.
And he had known when Diego had gotten shot. Even through the firefight and other sounds of battle, because of his extraordinary hearing—and because of the bond that existed between patron and attendant—he had been all too aware of Diego’s struggle for breath in those last few moments of his life.
Maybe he could have gotten back to the SUV in time to save Diego. A strong influx of Vampyre blood might have stopped the internal bleeding. Maybe they could have held back their attackers through firepower alone.
It had been a judgment call. Decisions in fighting were always judgment calls.
But in the space of a few fleeting moments, he had decided against it. He had traded the possibility of saving Diego’s life for the certainty of saving Tess.
And if he had to do it all over, he would do it again. In the deepest privacy of his soul, down at the bottom of a well where no one else could hear him, the part of him that had weighed life and death decisions over the last several hundred years took her life and weighed it against all else.
Life became simple from that point on, because Tess had to live. No matter who else died, or how much damage he had to inflict on the world around him—Tess had to live.
“Come on,” she whispered against his mouth. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“And you,” he murmured. He sank one hand into her damp hair and tightened it into a fist. “I’m not letting you go this time.”
She didn’t protest his possessive hold. Instead she smiled. “I’m good with that.”
Leaving the tub, she went to the closet and pulled out a handful of towels. She hovered near his elbow as he climbed out, but he steadied himself against the nearby sink and waved her away.
Toweling dry, he left his hair damp, and when she came to him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning on her for support again as they went into the bedroom. She pulled back the covers, and gratefully, he sank down onto the mattress. She joined him, and, putting his arms around her, he pulled her damp body next to his.
Their legs entwined, and the sensation of her naked body against his was as sacred as anything he had ever experienced.
Running his fingers along the wings of her collarbones, he said, “You haven’t told me how you are doing.”
“I’m fine. I’m tired.” She shook her head, the silky damp tips of her hair clinging to her skin. “I’m not fine—I’m not fine at all. Jesus Christ, Xavier, I went an entire hellish hour waiting for you to disappear and turn into dust. I held your head between my hands, and all I could think of was how you might vanish into thin air at any moment. I think I’m still screaming inside my head.”
As her face twisted, he pulled her onto him and held her tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s okay now. It’s going to be okay.”
“I know that,” she snapped, as the tears spilled down her face. “I don’t have to be rational, or in control right now.”
“Of course you don’t.” He stroked her hair, her shoulders, the beautiful hourglass curve of her back.
She mashed her mouth against his, but her emotional distress was too apparent for him to smile at the lack of finesse. Instead, he made a low, soothing sound at the back of his throat and cradled her.
“I didn’t know you two months ago. When I first met you at the Vampyre’s Ball, all I could think of was how easy it would be for you to rape me and drain me of my blood.”
He pressed his lips against the delicate, vital pulse at her neck. “Not easy,” he murmured. “Impossible.”
“The first time I walked into your study, I was terrified.” Her tear-starred eyes were filled with incredulity. “Now I can’t imagine what I would do without you somehow in my life.”
Possessiveness stirred. Gripping her by the hips, he pressed his erection against her. “I am not somehow in your life,” he growled. “I am very much more than somehow in your life. You are in my bed. You have found your way into my heart, and I am in yours. Admit it.”
Her gaze widened, and inexplicably, she calmed down. She muttered, “I guess you never know when the medieval Spanish nobleman might surface.”
“He is always here,” Xavier told her. “And he has fallen in love with you.” He whispered, barely audible against her skin. “He’s waiting for you to join him.”
Her response was immediate, and passionate. “I am. I have. I’m here too.”