“I can assure you, the ins and outs of the human law system are of no concern to me whatsoever.”
“Human …?”
Cursing under his breath, he waved away the word. “You know what I mean.”
As she smiled, her lids fluttered. “I’m sorry, I think I’m drifting off. All that food.”
“Let yourself go. And know that when you wake, I shall take you home.”
She jerked upright. “My grandmother is still in that house—”
“No, she is at my estate. I would never have left her where she was, exposed and vulnerable—”
Without any warning, Marisol put her arms around him, throwing them over his shoulders and holding on so hard, he felt every shudder of her body.
“Thank you,” she choked out against his neck. “Without her, I have nothing.”
Assail was so very careful as he returned the embrace, resting his hands lightly upon her back. Breathing in her scent, his heart ached anew that any male had touched her other than with reverence.
They stayed that way a long time. And when she finally eased back and looked up at him, he couldn’t stop himself from brushing her face with his fingers.
“I am without words,” he said in a cracked voice.
“About what?”
All he could do was shake his head and break the contact entirely by standing up. It was either that or he was going to get into that bed with her.
“Rest well,” he said roughly. “At nightfall, I shall escort you safely unto your relation.”
And then she and her grandmother could live with him. And that way he would know she would always be safe.
He would never worry over her again.
Assail hurried out before her eyes shut. He simply couldn’t bear that image of her closed lids.
Stepping free of the room, he—
Stopped dead.
Across the corridor, his twin cousins were leaning against the wall, and they didn’t have to look up or around at him. They were staring right into his eyes as he emerged—sure as if they had been waiting for him to come back out every second he’d been in there.
They didn’t speak, but they didn’t have to.
Assail rubbed his face. In what world did he think he could keep two human women in his house? And fuck forever—he wasn’t going to be able to do that for a night. Because what would he say when it became apparent he couldn’t go out during the day? Or have sunlight in his home? Or …
Overcome with emotion, he dug into the front pocket of his black slacks, took out his vial of coke and quickly dispensed of what was left.
Just so he could feel even slightly normal.
Then he picked the tray up off the floor. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered as he stalked away.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Wrath!”
As she called out her husband’s name, Beth jerked upright off the pillows, and for a moment, she had no idea where she was. The stone walls and the rich velvet bedding were not— Darius’s house. The chamber that was not her father’s, but the one Wrath had used when he’d needed someplace to crash. The one she’d moved over to when she couldn’t sleep.
She must have finally passed out on top of the duvet—
Distantly, a phone started ringing.
Shoving her hair out of her face, she found a blanket over her legs that she didn’t remember putting there … her suitcase just inside the door … and a silver tray set on the bedside table.
Fritz. The butler must have come sometime during the day.
Rubbing her sternum, she looked at the empty pillow next to her, the undisturbed sheets, the lack of Wrath—and felt worse than she had the night before.
To think she’d assumed they’d hit bottom. Or that space would help— “Crap, Wrath?” she called out as she jumped off the bed.
Running to the door, she ripped it open, shot across the shallow hall, and careened into her father’s chamber, diving for the phone on one of the side tables.
“Hello! Hello? Hello …?”
“Hi.”
At the sound of that deep voice, she collapsed on the bed, squeezing the phone in her fist, pushing it into her ear as if she could bring her man to her.
“Hi.” Closing her eyes, she didn’t bother fighting the tears. She let them fall. “Hi.”
His voice was as rough as hers was. “Hi.”
There was a long silence, and that was okay: Even though he was at home and she was here, it was as if they were holding each other.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”
She let out a sob. “Thank you…”
“I’m sorry.” He laughed a little. “I’m not real articulate, am I?”
“It’s okay. I’m not feeling very with it, either … I was just dreaming of you, I think.”
“A nightmare?”
“No. Missing you.”
“I don’t deserve it. I was afraid to call your cell in case you didn’t answer it. I thought maybe if someone was with you, they might pick up and … yeah, I’m sorry.”
Beth exhaled and leaned back against the pillows. Crossing her legs at the ankles, she looked around at the pictures of her. “I’m in his bedroom.”
“You are?”
“There isn’t a phone in the one you used.”
“God, it’s been a long time since I’ve been to that house.”
“I know, right? It brings up a lot.”
“I’ll bet.”
“How’s George?”
“Missing you.” There was a muffled thump—the sound of him patting the dog’s flank. “He’s right here with me.”
The good news was that the neutral subjects were the perfect way to dip their toes in the relating pool. But the larger discussion still loomed.
“So John’s head’s okay,” she said, picking at the bottom of her shirt. “But I guess you’ve already heard everything went all right at the medical center.”
“Oh, yeah, no. Actually, I’ve been … kind of out of it.”
“I called.”
“You did?”