“I keep it now and always,” Gideon added, “to protect my mate…and our child.”
Just like that, time seemed to stand still. Michael froze midbellow, even forgetting to move, gaping at Gideon in stunned, accusatory silence. Samuel gave Gideon a strange look, one somewhere between shock and understanding, between horror and hope.
“Go,” his unlikely ally finally said, just as Michael hit Samuel like a freight train with murder in his eyes.
“Go!” Samuel ground out as he used every bit of his strength to hold Michael back. He was fast losing the battle.
It went against every fiber of his being to run from a fight with Michael. But there were far more important things at stake than his pride now. Shooting the straining titans one last glance, Gideon turned and sprinted down the alley. He hopped on the big Harley parked at the end of the block, fired it up and sped off into the night.
Chapter Twenty
Maggie sat on the couch in front of the fireplace in Gideon’s den, an open book in her lap as she stared at the flames crackling in the grate. All the things Xander and Niklas had told her bounced around in her head, unable to settle. But it all boiled down to immutable fact.
Gideon had to absorb souls to survive.
He was a dangerous, ruthless demon. But she never felt safer than when she was with him. He’d also given her the one thing she’d always wanted. The chance, the means, to learn how to protect herself.
He’d given her far more than that, she reflected wryly, gently cradling her flat abdomen.
She connected with him more deeply than she’d ever connected with anyone else. But he had to absorb human souls to survive.
Could she live with that?
The sound of footsteps approaching the door drew her attention. Expecting to see Kyanna or Carly, though they’d told her they’d give her some space, she was surprised when Gideon entered the room.
He paused in the doorway the moment his gaze connected with hers. He seemed to draw in a bracing breath, his wide shoulders lifting as his muscular chest expanded. Then, without a word of acknowledgement, he dragged himself across the room to the elegant minibar in the corner. Maggie went up on her knees and twisted around, propping her elbows on the back of the sofa, to watch him.
He picked up a crystal decanter and poured a more-than-healthy amount of liquid the same burnt amber color as his eyes. She waited as he put the glass to his lips—the lower one cracked and swollen—and drained the glass in one long series of gulps.
Even now, knowing what she knew about him, she still wanted him. She watched his long lean fingers—his knuckles scraped and bloody—cradle the crystal, and she wanted those hands on her body again. She watched those seductive, abused lips as they parted to accept the amber liquid, and she wanted to feel them pressed to her skin once more. She wanted the wild abandon of his lovemaking more than she wanted her next breath.
More frightening, she wanted to snuggle into him. Wanted to lay her head on his chest, wanted to hear the steady thud of his heart. She wanted to feel his arms come around her and hold her tight. And she wanted, just for a little while, to let him shoulder the weight of the cares that were crushing her.
As he set the glass down to refill it, she studied the condition of his knuckles a little more closely. They were split and bruised. And his left eye was beginning to swell shut. Glass full once more, he took another sip, and grimaced. He finally crossed the room, and gingerly took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. She remained silent as he removed a throw pillow, noting that he seemed to be favoring the left side of his ribs.
Maggie took the rest of his appearance in now, from head to foot, in the soft light of the fire. His hair was mussed more than normal. His clothing was torn in places and patched with dirt and blood.
He looked as if he’d been in a barroom brawl. She hoped, given the fact he was still upright and moving around, that he’d won.
But there was something else about him that was different. Something…more.
Despite the swelling and bruising, despite the caution in his movements, his skin was a healthy, glowing pink now. His stare twinkled just a bit brighter. She knew, from what the others had told her, that absorbing souls strengthened his own essence, that—supposedly—it had no effect on his humanlike physicality. That he relied on normal human food for that.
All that aside, she was still convinced he looked different. He…glowed with good health, despite his battered appearance.
Disconcerting.
Frowning, she clasped her hands in her lap. “How bad’s the other guy look?”
Gideon shot her a gimlet stare and grunted, taking another big gulp.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said, unable to help herself. She’d never been able to stand to see another suffering. Even if he’d probably brought it on himself.