A Vampire's Honor (10 page)

T
he feel of hot water sluicing down my back and between my shoulder blades was therapeutic. Being in the sarcophagus had cleansed the drugs from my body, healed my broken bones and bruises, and taken care of my physical well-being. But standing beneath the hot shower spray was cathartic in a way the runes on Gabriel's coffin could never be. This was what I needed. To purify myself. To wash away the stench of Gus and Rat Boy and Petrov—especially Petrov—even if the odor of their combined foulness existed only in my mind.

The opening of the shower door, a lovely piece of glass sandblasted with images of long-legged wading birds, displaced some of the hot, steamy air. I felt a slight change in the water pressure as Gabriel activated the other showerhead set in the wall behind me. I started to turn around, but he took my hands and placed them firmly on the marble tiled wall in front of me. Obediently I kept my back to him, bending my head as the spray cascaded down my shoulders.

The fragrant scent of jasmine and ginger filled my nose as Gabriel, using his hands as a sponge, washed me. His strong fingers kneaded my shoulders before working their way down my back, paying individual attention to each vertebra in my spine. A trail of soapy suds ran down the back of my thighs.

Replenishing the soap in his hand, Gabriel turned me around and continued washing me. Cupping the fullness of each breast in a palm, his fingers slicked across my skin as he continued to lather me. I sucked in a breath as he gently pinched my nipple, gasping at the sensation that made a sudden heat explode between my legs.

Slippery hands glided down my rib cage, my waist, and across my lower belly. A finger dipped playfully into my belly button, making me giggle. He turned me back around and placed my hands flat against the tiled wall. Then he pushed his thigh between my legs, encouraging me to widen my stance. Long fingers soaped the inside of each thigh, and the feel of his nails lightly drawing over the sensitive skin made my muscles jump in anticipation.

I looked down to see him rinse his hands clean of the perfumed soap, and I heard his breath as it quickened next to my ear. His cock was long and hard, and it pressed up against me. His fingers found their way between my legs, slipping inside the folds of my flesh and pushing inside my body. I groaned and bucked at the feel of him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmured in a husky voice.

“I want you to make me come,” I gasped.

He obeyed, moving his fingers in and out, creating a friction that made me clench my pelvic muscles and taking me to the edge of my climax. And just when I was certain my pleasure couldn't possibly be any more intense, Gabriel rubbed his thumb over my clitoris and sent me tumbling into an abyss of sensual gratification I had no idea existed.

I was swimming in a sea of orgasmic bliss and would have fallen to my knees if not for his arm around my waist. Waves of carnal ecstasy crashed over me, electrifying every nerve ending in my body . . . and then he pushed himself inside me.

The arm around my waist tightened, and he braced himself against the shower wall with his other hand. I wrapped my fingers around his muscular forearm and felt the muscles in his body clench as he drew back and then thrust forward, hips slamming into me. His own release was imminent. His thighs began to tremble as he prolonged the moment, and I felt the scrape of fully extended fangs down the side of my neck.

I pulled my wet hair to one side and offered myself to him. Gabriel struck at the exact moment I felt him move inside me, giving and taking at the same time. I have never felt anything so perfectly blissful.

* * *

All the lingerie I had thrown on the closet floor during my temper tantrum had been folded and put back in the silk-lined drawers. Somewhere between making me come either the third or fourth time, Gabriel and I had both apologized to each other over the matter. He promised not to do anything so outrageous again, while I, on the verge of sexual implosion, agreed to keep most of the lingerie. Even the Lady Gaga outfit.

Sex in the shower is a great way to reach a compromise.

Now, as I quickly plaited my wet hair in a single braid, I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Not too shabby for a gal who was on the verge of death what, ten, twelve hours ago?

Whoa. I'd been out that long? Five minutes later I was dressed, my ultra-expensive underwear hidden beneath sweat pants and an NFL T-shirt. I didn't know who this gal Fleur was, or even if she really was from England, but she sure knew how to make a girl feel special in one of her bras.

Opening the bedroom door, I was immediately enveloped in a bear hug that had my feet dangling a good six inches off the ground and left me squeaking for breath. When over six feet of Russian vampire decides to hug you, it's best to just go with it and pray his enthusiasm doesn't accidentally crack a rib. My name came out with a deep growl, followed by a whole lot of Russian I didn't understand. Putting me back on solid footing, Aleksei released me, but took my hand and swallowed it up inside both of his.

I stared at him, feeling ridiculously happy to see he looked the same as ever. Tucked into military-style camouflage pants was a Marine Corps T-shirt bearing the slogan “First In, Last Out.” I was convinced at some point in his life, perhaps more than once, Aleksei had been one of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children. “What happened to your boots?” I asked, looking down at his black-socked feet.

“Tomas said not on hardwood floors.” He made a clucking sound with his tongue.

“Yeah, he tells me the same thing about my high heels. I've learned to take them off at the front door.” I took my left hand and placed it atop the two that held my right prisoner. “Sorry if I gave you guys a scare, but I'm glad you're here, because there's something—”

The rest of my sentence was drowned out by Anasztaizia's voice screaming my name, followed by an emotional flow that I assumed was Hungarian. Like her boyfriend, she reverted to her native tongue in times of stress. Thankfully, Aleksei let go of my hand at the moment she flung herself at me. We hugged, saw each other's eyes well up with tears, and hugged some more. The girlfriend-slash-sister bond that we shared now felt stronger and more meaningful.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Aleksei decided the estrogen flowing in the hallway was thick enough. Placing a hand on each shoulder, he turned Anasztaizia and me toward the kitchen.

“Eat first, talk later,” he boomed.

The smell of bacon made my mouth water and my stomach grumble. Aleksei went to stand by the stove, while Anasztaizia set about getting plates and silverware on the table. Gabriel, watching me with a look that said he was ready to take another shower, fixed me a mug of hot coffee.

“Where's Tomas?” I asked, taking the mug from Gabriel's outstretched hand.

“Getting the mirror in the elevator replaced.” Ah, so the spider-web design hadn't been some form of artistic expression. I thought it looked suspiciously as if someone's fist had punched the glass, and I was willing to bet the person responsible wasn't standing more than a foot or so away from me. “You're going to talk to him? Now?”

“No time like the present.” Putting off the face-to-face was pointless. The sooner Tomas and I got over any embarrassment we felt with each other, the better. Besides, there was no way I was going to be able to keep down—
was that blueberry waffles Aleksei was making?
—anything I ate until we'd cleared the air. Or I had. Gabriel made a move to go with me, but that was the last thing I wanted. “No, you stay.” It sounded like I was giving orders to a golden retriever. “This shouldn't take more than a minute.” I leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the mouth. “In the meantime, could you make sure the big guy doesn't eat all the bacon? Oh, and I want one of those waffles—and some scrambled eggs.”

* * *

The door to the penthouse was standing wide open, as were the doors to the elevator that faced it. Tomas was giving instructions to the building's maintenance man on the best way to remove the damaged mirror without mutilating the surrounding paneling in the process. Henry, or so the name on the man's shirt said, was listening carefully.

Although I felt certain it wasn't the first broken mirror Henry had ever replaced, this time was different. He would be able to share with the rest of the building staff that
someone
had used their fist to vent their frustration. Seeing me standing in the open doorway, Tomas left Henry to start without him.

When I'd first learned Gabriel had a sentinel, someone to protect him as he lay in his sarcophagus in a state of inertia, I imagined a beefy ex–Special Forces guy. A muscle-bound assassin trained to kill with his bare hands or a paperclip. What I got was Mr. Rogers, complete with a cardigan that had leather patches on the elbows. I soon learned, however, that protection came in many forms, with physical strength being only one of them. As a runecaster, Tomas was uniquely suited to protect Gabriel. Or me.

When I asked what part of Scotland Tomas was from, Gabriel had chuckled and informed me his sentinel wasn't Scottish. I protested, citing Tomas's accent and use of idioms.

“Tomas,” Gabriel told me, “has a talent for blending in anywhere. The ability to mimic the dialect of a specific region has proved useful in the past. Particularly in a time when people rarely went farther than the next village.”

This aspect of being Gabriel's sentinel had never occurred to me, but I could appreciate the value of such a talent. “But what about now? People travel all over the world, so being able to speak a certain way doesn't matter as much. Of all the accents in the world, why pick Scottish?” I could think of at least a half dozen that would be much easier on the tongue, to say nothing about the ear.

“Ah, that's my fault,” Gabriel confessed, looking a little sheepish. “We were having a discussion about humans we admired.”

“Humans?”

“Yes,” Gabriel barely missed a beat. “I told him I had a great deal of respect for William Wallace.”

“
Braveheart
?”

“A dreadfully inaccurate depiction of his life,” Gabriel corrected with a grimace. “Nonetheless, Tomas watched the movie and has adopted a Highland brogue ever since.”

“He doesn't wear a kilt, does he?” Imagining Mr. Rogers in a tartan skirt was mind-boggling, to say the least, especially as I recalled a particularly memorable scene from the movie. Whether or not Mel Gibson actually showed his ass is completely beside the point. There were plenty of others who didn't shy away from their chance to moon.

“Tomas is a stickler for authenticity,” Gabriel said dryly, observing the slight flush on my cheeks, “and does not possess the birthright to wear a clan tartan.”

I was oddly grateful. If the sentinel was that adamant about being genuine, then had he been able to wear a kilt I knew exactly what he'd be wearing underneath it. It was hard enough knowing I'd been completely naked, but Mr. Rogers with no underwear? No way!

“What can I do for ye, lass?” Tomas said, interrupting my train of thought. The slight hesitancy in his voice made me think he too was a little anxious about seeing me.

I decided to cut to the chase. Looking him straight in the eye, and trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up my neck and face, I said, “I want to thank you for putting me to bed.” Oh jeez—that sounded even worse.

“Ye should nae be ashamed, Miss Rowan.” He took my hands and lowered his voice to a whisper, making sure Henry couldn't hear him. “I carried ye in a blanket.”

“Oh . . . thank you, thank you so much for telling me that.” Touched by his kindness, I surprised both of us by kissing him on the cheek. His skin was freshly shaven, and he smelled vaguely of Old Spice. It was nice, and made me think of my dad.

“Och, get away with ye!” Despite the gruffness of his tone, I could tell he was pleased.

* * *

Anasztaizia kept touching me, as if to reassure herself it really was me sitting at the table, pouring maple syrup over a blueberry waffle. I sighed when she jumped up to refill my mug. She'd freshened my coffee three times already. It would be a lot easier if she just brought the pot to the table. But I couldn't get irritated with her. Gabriel had let Aleksei know that I had something to tell him, something to do with my abduction, and now both he and Anasztaizia were walking on eggshells. I had considered running it by Gabriel first, but it was his suggestion that I wait until we were all present. That way I'd only have to say whatever it was one time.

It was obvious there had been some discussion among the three of them. Anasztaizia and Aleksei kept exchanging meaningful glances, and the big Russian looked frequently at Gabriel. As if he already sensed there was a lot more to my kidnapping than just having the really bad luck to be in an accident with a pair of opportunistic rapists.

Anasztaizia had barely taken a bite of her food, and her eyes were sparkling in a way that told me if I didn't say something—soon—she was going to dissolve into a puddle. “It's okay,” I said, putting my hand on her arm and giving a gentle squeeze. “It wasn't your fault, and I'm really, really sorry about your car.”

She made a fist with her hand, bringing it to her mouth so she could stifle her sobs. It took a few moments, and a couple of deep breaths, but I was proud of the way she pulled herself together. “I keep telling myself it was just a stupid accident,” she said in a shaky voice, “that it could have happened to anyone. Five minutes, one way or the other, and they would have crashed into someone else, taken someone else. . .” Her voice trailed off.