D. Reynolds - Aden

Smiling at herself, she gave the gun a final pat and went back to her shower, leaning into the stall to turn on the hot water and let it run. Guilt stabbed her about the wasted water. She was generally very conservation-minded. But sometimes a girl needed steam, and this was one of those times. Her pores needed opening. She wanted every trace of Carl Pinto and his hell house gone. Not to mention the fucking explosion afterward. She figured she’d pretty much used up her life’s supply of adrenaline in the last two days.

While waiting for the bathroom to become foggy, she leaned toward the mirror and used her hand to rub away a clear space so she could study the damage.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, horrified. This was so much worse than she’d thought. It was a wonder Aden hadn’t walked away and left her on the street. Her hair was a rat’s nest, and she was wearing a couple of days’ worth of running mascara, but okay, that was expected. What she hadn’t anticipated, although she probably should have, given her throbbing headache, was the red and purple bruising that covered half her face. She didn’t know how much of it was from Pinto and how much from the explosion and didn’t care. It all came together to create the nightmare image that was staring back at her. She literally looked like a refugee from a horror movie.

She closed her eyes and turned away, not wanting to see any more. The bathroom was steamy and warm, and she drew a deep, calming breath. The steam felt good on her sinuses, which were swollen nearly shut, but she’d forgotten about the injury to her side where Pinto had kicked her and had to swallow a cry of pain. She frowned and pressed the damaged ribs tenderly, checking for breaks. Not that she was sure she’d know the difference, but they didn’t feel broken. Nothing squished when she pushed on it, no knife-sharp pain. Just really sore.

She sighed, wishing she could go back to that house, back to the moment when Aden had asked if she wanted to have the honor of finishing off Pinto herself. She wouldn’t pass it up a second time. She’d blow that fucker’s head off, but not before kicking him a few times so he’d know what it felt like to be tied up and helpless.

It was funny, in a not-funny-at-all way, that the worst of her injuries had come from her short time with Pinto and not the gigantic explosion later. That was because Aden had protected her, cushioning her fall and taking most of the damage himself.

She stepped into the shower, standing with her eyes closed and her head bent, letting the hot water pummel her back and neck, washing away the dirt and grime… and blood. Most of the blood was Pinto’s, but not all of it. Needing to be clean, she turned around and reached for the shampoo. Her hair was a tangled mess, but the dirt had to come out first. She washed it quickly and thoroughly, then again, and finally massaged in about twice as much conditioner as she’d normally use. She was rinsing the last of that away, her eyes closed, her head tilted forward under the hot spray, when the shower door clicked open behind her.

She smiled without opening her eyes.

“I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Aden’s strong arms surrounded her, one hand going low on her belly as he nudged her back against his chest, his erection a hard length against her butt.

“I told you it wouldn’t take long,” he murmured. Reaching over her shoulder for the soap, he lathered it between his big hands and began to rub it over her skin with exquisite care, his touch far gentler than she would have thought him capable of.

Aden was a man of such contrasts. Not a man at all, according to him. He’d have her believe he’d left behind his humanity long ago when he’d been enslaved, treated like a thing. But that didn’t explain his concern for the captured women, his kindness in making certain they were not just cared for, but safe and on their way home. The careful way he’d protected her . He was so powerful, and yet his touch when he examined her bruises was so tender, so full of . . .

She wanted to say love, but she didn’t know if that was true. It felt like love, but maybe she was projecting her own feelings onto him. Because she was definitely falling and falling hard. She’d been teetering on the edge ever since the first night she’d met him. As rude and irritating as he’d been, there’d been an undeniable spark between them. She’d initially dismissed it as nothing more than sexual attraction. After all, the guy was sex on a stick. Any woman still breathing would want him. But the truth had crept in, growing with every hour they spent together, every tiny bit of himself that he revealed to her, until she could no longer deny it. She even knew the precise moment when she’d reached the point of no return. It was the look in his eyes when he’d seen her standing in that kitchen doorway tonight. His relief at seeing her alive, and his rage when he’d seen what Pinto had done to her.

She knew he cared, but she didn’t know if he loved her.

“Turn around,” he murmured against her ear, and she shivered at the rumble of his deep voice.

She obeyed, turning around to face him, lifting her gaze from his thickly-muscled chest to his wonderful, broad shoulders, past the strong column of his throat to his sensuous lips which curved slightly with amusement, before she finally met his dark eyes.

“I look awful,” she lamented.

“You look beautiful. You’re alive, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Sid sighed and rested her forehead against his chest. “I knew you’d come,” she told him.

“But you didn’t wait anyway.”

She rolled her head from side to side. “I decided I was no fairy tale princess.”

“Whatever that means,” he growled. “He could have killed you. You should have waited for me.”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t know what he would do to those women.”

“I would have taken care of them. You know that.”

“I did know, and I knew you’d come after us, but I was worried you’d be too late. Pinto was getting ready to move, and I was afraid he’d have us all packed up and gone before you got there.”

“Then, I’d have tracked you down,” he said implacably. “I am a vampire lord, Sidonie. I have resources.”

“But you’re not infallible. And I couldn’t take that chance. Besides, I am woman, hear me roar.”

“Again, whatever the fuck that means. Do I need to check your head for bumps?”

Sid laughed. “Poor old vampire. I’ll explain it all to you later.”

“Old?” His soap-slick hands slid down her back to cup her ass and lift her against his fully aroused shaft.

“Well, you are old,” she said breathlessly, then hissed when her sore ribs were crushed against his chest.

Aden cursed and released her. “You’re hurt. Let me heal—”

But Sid didn’t let him finish. Standing on her tiptoes, she hooked her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him hungrily, twisting her tongue around his until he groaned. Wrapping both arms around her carefully, he took the kiss deeper, one hand tangling in her long hair, tugging her head back as his lips trailed past her mouth to her neck, kissing her softly there, letting her feel the sweep of his tongue before lifting his head with another curse.

Sidonie voiced a wordless protest. She didn’t want to be pampered, she wanted to be fucked. Lifting her mouth to his, she teased his lips open with her tongue, and then she bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He growled, but only squeezed her ass in warning.

She grinned against his lips and bit down harder, swallowing the tiny bit of his blood, feeling the rush, feeling every inch of her skin, every nerve ending tingle with awareness of him .