For a moment, resentment fluttered in his breast. None of it should matter one bit. The Halfling was the only thing standing between him and his escape into Oblivion.
Just as quickly, he snuffed that resentment out. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the Halfling’s fault. It was the mission. Not fair to hold her personally responsible, yet that was what he’d been doing. Yes, she was…difficult to deal with. But wouldn’t he be the same in similar circumstances?
He could conjure the room clean, could conjure an adjoining bath, but it would sap his strength, and right now he was on his own there. He didn’t know what kind of threat they were facing, and weakening himself for something so inconsequential seemed like a stupid move. Not when there were other alternatives available.
Oh, hell.
Who was he trying to fool here anyway? He might not be able to hold her in his arms as he wanted, or make love to her like he had all the time in the world and two hundred plus years of lust to burn, but the idea of her sleeping in his bed was erotic as hell.
It would be as close as he would ever come to having her for himself.
What else did he have to look forward to, besides Oblivion?
He strode back down the hallway toward her.
“This way,” he mumbled as he passed her, proud of his controlled tone.
She stopped in her tracks and turned to follow him once again. He was only thankful she hadn’t made some snide comment about getting lost in his own house. If she had, he probably would have left her in the dingy bedroom, wouldn’t even have made the effort to clean it up. As it was, he led her into his own room, kicking himself every step of the way. This was such a bad idea on so many levels.
As soon as he opened the door, he was faced with the shambles of his own bedroom and realized he had no choice. Clean this bedroom or clean the other. Given the vast state of neglect in the guest room, his room would be far less work. At least that was what he tried to convince himself of. That it was more a question of effort and expended energy rather than some sick need to know it was his bedroom she would be living in, his shower she would be naked in. His bed she would sleep in. He quickly conjured the room and adjoining bathroom spotless, replacing the bedding, towels and toiletries while he was at it.
He’d been reduced from feared demon hunter to housekeeper.
Welcome to Hotel Gideon.
“The bathroom’s in there,” he said, pointing to the door on the far wall. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be downstairs in the study if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, standing in the middle of the room, looking forlorn. Unable to offer her the kind of comfort he wanted to, he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
Gideon stood there for a long moment, his head tilted back and shoulders pressed against the door. He recalled how she looked, standing there in the middle of his bedroom. The rightness of it—of having her there, surrounded by his things—staggered him. That damned word, his, kept whispering through his mind. Need coiled tight in his gut, longing nearly crushed his chest.
But he couldn’t have her.
Lust turned to resentment, resentment to anger.
Rage began to swell. His hands shook with it. His palms stung with the urge to form plasma balls and burn the place down. His skin stretched taut. His muscles began to burn and ache as the beast inside clawed for freedom. She would never be his.
And then he heard it. A muffled sob. Gideon turned and tipped his forehead to the door, pressed his palm to the cold hard wood and closed his eyes once more. His entire body tightened with a different kind of need. A need he’d had precious little experience with. The need to comfort. The beast inside settled back on its haunches with a bewildered growl. No longer did it want to come out, no longer did it thirst for blood.
Instead, it trembled with…worry? Uncertainty? He could hardly fathom it.
He heard the bed give the slightest squeak as it accepted her meager weight. Her cries were a little louder now, but still muffled, as though smothered in a pillow. But he could hear them through the feathers and through the wood. He felt them in the black hole where his soul used to be. And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Couldn’t hold her as he wanted, couldn’t soothe her with the touch of his hand, or the press of his lips. The sound of those muffled cries undid him.
Unable to take another second of those soft, heartbreaking sounds, he shimmered himself to the sanctuary of his den once more.
Chapter Six