Blood Kiss (35 page)

“N
o, I'm fine.”

Paradise winced as she said the words. Then again, Doc Jane was shining a flashlight directly into her eyeballs.

“You've got a concussion,” the doctor announced as she took a seat on the bed. “Do you feel sick to your stomach?”

Well, gee, yes—but whether that was because of the fact that she'd been nearly killed by a classmate or totally saved by a male she'd told to fuck off a half an hour ago . . .

“What was the question?” she asked. “Wait, yes, I'm a little nauseous, and I have a bit of a thumper.”

Doc Jane smiled. “You're going to be fine. Just take it easy. And before you ask, yes, you can go to class tomorrow night, but no sparring and go easy on the workout.”

“Oh. Okay.” God, she couldn't imagine being back at the training center. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I'm not going to give you anything other than the Motrin you just took.”

“Oh . . . okay. Thank you.”

“And you need to talk to Mary,” Doc Jane said as she got back to her feet. “And no, an I'm-fine ain't going to cut it. You can expect some PTSD from this. Your body is going to heal faster than your mind will.”

“Who's Mary?”

“You know, Rhage's
shellan
. She's a therapist.”

“Oh.”

Maybe she should follow that one up with another T-Y?

“I'm here if you need me,” the doctor said before she left.

And then Paradise was alone.

It was funny, even though she was safe and in her bedroom, and there were Brothers downstairs . . . the house didn't feel quite so secured anymore. And maybe that was the point about the Mary conversation.

God . . . Anslam, a killer? Maybe even a serial killer?

He'd never shown any signs of instability. He'd seemed like a relatively normal, if slightly unpleasant person, just like her or anyone else from their class, their race.

To think she'd sat by him in training, sparred with him, talked and laughed with him—and all the while he'd been . . . brutalizing females?

It was the stuff of nightmares—before she even got to the part where he tried to murder her.

Glancing at the clock, she became even more stressed. There was only an hour before dawn came, and she didn't know where Craeg was. Had he left yet?

She needed to see him.

With a groan, she stretched across for the house phone—

“You want me to help you with that?”

Jerking back, she looked up to find the male himself standing in her doorway. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

“Doc Jane told me it was okay to come in. I've got to go, and I wanted to see for myself that you were still alive.”

Paradise closed her eyes and had to turn her face away. Tears came fast and furious, but she didn't want to show them.

There was a soft click as he shut the door, and for a second, she thought he'd left her. But then she took a deep breath and caught his scent.

“I met your dad,” he said roughly.

Shaking herself back into focus, she forced herself to look over at him. He hadn't come any farther into the room, and that seemed apt. His face was remote, his body tense, his affect that of somebody who had already left the house even though he was arguably standing in front of her.

“You did?” she said quietly.

“Nice guy.”

“He is.”

Long silence. And then she decided, Fuck it, and went for a Kleenex. Blowing her nose, she snapped another free and blotted her eyes.

“Sorry, I'm kind of emotional.”

“Why wouldn't you be. You nearly got killed.”

Wadding up the tissues, she pitched them into the wastepaper basket by her bed and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry I said all that stuff to you. That I yelled at you.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Okay.” Man, for some reason that blasé response, like none of it had particularly mattered, hurt worse than her concussion. “All right.”

“Look, Paradise, you and I . . .”

“Are what?” She glanced at him. “Or is it more like
aren't
. As in aren't meant to be? Is this the part where you go through all the reasons we can't be together again, including, if not especially, because of my background? Because if it is, I'm pretty sure we covered that on the phone.”

When he didn't say anything, just stared at the floor as if he were counting the stitches in her needlepoint rug, she imagined he was practicing the final good-bye in his head. And that would be a good-bye to their relationship, not a never-see-you-again. Because she was not dropping out of the fucking program; that was for sure: In just these initial nights—which felt like twelve thousand years, thank you very much—she'd already invested waaaaaay too much for quitting.

“You'd better go,” she said with defeat. “Just—”

“Why me?”

She frowned. “I'm sorry?”

As he looked over at her, his eyes were dead serious. “I guess, I don't understand . . . why me? You could have anyone in the species. I mean, whole bloodlines would give their arms and legs to have a son with you. You are literally the most valuable thing on the planet—and that's before they get to know how strong you are, how smart you are . . . how resilient you are. How courageous . . . and smart. Have I mentioned smart.” He looked back down at the rug. “And beautiful. And then there's that voice of yours.” He made a circle next to his head. “It makes me crazy, your voice. Every day, after we'd hang up the phone, I would sleep with the fucking thing on my chest. Like maybe part of your voice, part of you was still in it.”

Okay, now she was tearing up for a completely different reason.

Craeg motioned around the room. “Even if you'd forgive me for being a total asshole . . . I can't give you anything like this. My parents' cottage has, like, two bedrooms and a galley kitchen. There's Formica on the counters and linoleum on the floors, and really ugly carpeting in it. The wood is fake, it's not antique. The oldest piece of furniture I own is from the seventies—and it's horrible-looking. I can't . . . I can't buy you jewelry, or cars—”

“Stop.”

At the sound of her voice, he fell silent.

“I don't think like that,” she whispered. “And neither should you.”

“What if that changes.”

And that was when she realized he'd never really shown her the vulnerability in him before. And wait, was he talking about them still being together?

“It won't,” she vowed. “I don't care about any of that stuff and that is not going to change.”

“How do you know?” he said softly. “Because . . . I'm in love with you. And if you decide tomorrow, a week from now . . . a year from now . . . that this is just a fling, or that you need to be with someone who's classier than I am, I'm not going to survive that. That is one thing that will bring me to my knees and keep me there. So just let me go, okay? Put me out of my misery . . . let me go.”

Paradise wiped her eyes and had to smile.

“Did you just tell me you loved me?” When he didn't answer, she prompted, “I think you did.”

“I'm serious, Paradise.”

Suddenly, nothing in her head or her body hurt, and the fear that had been like a toxic poison in her veins was gone.

“So am I,” she whispered.

“Then yes, yes I did just tell you I love you. And I'm sorry I lost it about you and your family. And I'm also an asshole for lumping you in with the people who killed my father. I don't know . . . all I have to do is think back to that first night, when you didn't want to leave me on the trail? You were like that with everyone, not just me. You . . . you would have locked yourself out of a safe room if it meant one more person could have fit in.”

He released a shuddering breath, and wiped his face with his broad palm, like he was struggling with his own emotions.

“Craeg, all I can say is this.” She waited until he looked up at her again. “I beat everyone that first night, didn't I. I was the last one standing, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You were amazing.”

“Well, I would do that all over again right now if it meant I could prove the unprovable to you—and that is that my heart knows what it wants. It's as simple and uncomplicated as that. You can try, if you like, to layer on all kinds of reasons why I'll think differently sometime in the future, but my feelings are never going to change. I knew you were the one the first night I met you, when you walked into the audience house. I spent weeks wondering if you'd be back with your application. The night of initiation? I waited and prayed to see you come in. And when you did, all I could think of was, ‘Thank God he's here.'”

She put out her hand to him. “I still think that every time I see you after I've spent some time away from you. ‘Thank God . . . he's here.'”

Craeg came to her slowly, as if giving her a chance to change her mind. But then his palm was against hers. And then he was sitting on the bed next to her. And then he was leaning in and pressing a kiss to her mouth.

Except he sat back and got grave. “I'm going to
ahvenge
my father. I know you don't agree with it, but I can't change that. I'm sorry.”

She closed her eyes as pain struck her in the chest. “Please . . . no. And I'm not saying that to protect some distant cousin of mine. There's been too much death already. I'm trying to protect another living thing.”

“A coward who killed my father.”

“Maybe there's another way of getting justice.” She squeezed his hand. “Just . . . let's work on that. Maybe there's another way. Promise? For me. Do this for me.”

It was a long, long while before he answered. But when he finally did, it seemed like a vow. “All right. I hate it . . . but all right.”

Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around him and felt him hold her in return. “I love you.”

“Oh, God, Paradise . . . I love you, too.”

They stayed that way for the longest time, embracing each other, saying small things, touching, feeling, kissing.

And then there was a knock on the door.

Yeah, boy, Craeg moved so fast off her bed, he practically slammed into the wall that was farthest away.

She laughed a little. “Yes?”

“It's Butch,” came the deep voice. “I'm leaving now. Craeg, you gotta come with me.”

“Okay,” Craeg said, heading for the door.

“When will I see you?” Paradise asked. “Tomorrow night's class is canceled also?”

He put his hand on the knob and looked over at her with hooded eyes. “Answer your phone at seven a.m. and we'll discuss it.”

With that and a very hot wink, he slipped out and shut the panels quietly.

As Paradise let herself fall back against her pillows, she was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.

One week later . . .

“W
ait, so where does the cumberbatch go?”

As Craeg stood in front of a full-length mirror in the Pit, he was in a panic until Butch stepped in behind him. Naturally, the Brother smiled at him like he was an idiot. Which he was.

“It's cummerbund.” Butch took the banding and put it around Craeg's waist. “Damn, son, you're gonna look tight.”

“How much did this thing cost?”

“Fifteen thousand.” There was some fussing and tugging as things were done up at the small of his back. “And the good news is that you and I are the same kind of stocky, so it fits you like a glove.”

Craeg blinked a couple of times. “Fifteen thousand? Dollars?”

“No, Pop-Tarts,” Vishous said from over on the bed. “And if that makes your nuts shrink, multiply it times all the shit on those hangers over there.”

Craeg glanced at the racks of clothes in the otherwise neat and tidy bedroom. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, Saks loves him.” V lit up another hand-rolled. “And Neiman Marcus.”

“Fuck you, V.” Butch leaned to the side and picked up a black jacket with long black tails. “Guys like Craeg and me, we have to put on some window dressing for our ladies. That's how we roll.”

Personally, Craeg would rather have been in his jeans. But he had to admit the starched white shirt with its fancy white knot at the throat and the bright red
suspenders and the black slacks with the satin stripes down the outsides was not a bad look.

And then he put the jacket on.

Staring at his reflection, he brushed his newly cut hair back and then shook the stuff out. “I look . . .”

“Like fifteen million bucks.” Butch clapped him on the shoulder. “Now get the fuck out of here so I can get dressed, too. The misanthrope over there is staying home because he's too good for this shit, but you and I are gonna have a great fucking time.”

V grunted and got off the bed. “Call me if you don't, though. I'm always good for a fistfight, and I like hitting pretty boys.”

“You're just bitter you don't have a tux.”

Vishous paused in the doorway and looked back at Craeg. Nodding once, he said, “The a-hole is right. You look good. She's going to be proud to be on your arm. Don't let any of those fucking morons make you feel second-class—she could pick anyone in the world, and she chose you. Also, don't offer anyone your hand first. It'll give them a chance to snub you. You let them greet you, not the other way around, 'kay?”

“Thanks,” Craeg said roughly.

V nodded, and went to stalk down the shallow hall, adding, “I'm going to go sucker punch Lassiter. Then probably play some pool with him.”

“Have fun, honey,” Butch called out. Then he refocused on Craeg in the mirror. “Let me let you down into the tunnel. Wait for me in the parking garage. I'll drive you out.”

“Okay. Hey . . . thanks.”

God, that sounded so fucking lame.

Butch smiled, showing off a front tooth that was a little wonky. “I mated up, too. I know what it's like to be with a female who's—”

At that moment, Marissa stepped out of the second bedroom and . . .

Craeg recoiled. The dress . . . the diamonds . . . the dress . . .

The fucking diamonds
.

The female literally sparkled white from head to foot, a blinding show of beauty and elegance in her formfitting gown.

Doc Jane jumped out into the hall. “So! How'd we do? Huh? How'd we do?”

Craeg looked over his shoulder at Butch . . . who was standing there dumb as an ox, looking like he'd seen the second coming of the Scribe Virgin Herself.

“Let yourself out, kid,” the Brother said in a guttural voice. “Like
now
. I'll be there in ten minutes—no, wait . . . twenty.”

•   •   •

As Marissa smiled at Craeg and told him he was handsome, she marveled how one could be fully clothed and completely undressed at the same time.

Then again, with the way Butch was staring at her, she was very clear on what he was thinking about.

“Come on, Craeg, I'll take you into the tunnel,” Doc Jane said. “And have fun, you two.”

“Go, go, go, go,” Butch muttered to V's mate. “Before you see way more than you're gonna want to.”

As the pair left and the door into the tunnel clicked shut and relocked, Marissa did a slow turn in front of her mate. “You like?”

Butch's reply was to fall to his knees. Like, really . . . fall to his knees so hard she wasn't sure whether the cracking was because he'd broken his bones or the floorboards.

Gathering up the skirt of her Reem Acra gown, she hustled over to him. “Are you all—”

He captured her shoulders in his hands, his hazel eyes roaming over her face. “I want to kiss you, but I don't want to ruin your makeup.”

“So kiss me carefully.”

And he did, brushing her mouth with a gentle stroke.
“You take my breath away, Marissa. You're going to take everyone's breath away.”

She smoothed his hair. “We'll see about that.”

“Yes, we will.”

Marissa grew serious. “Havers isn't coming tonight. It kind of surprised me. He was the one who nominated me to be head of this thing.”

“Maybe it's his way of putting out an olive branch. Allowing you to shine without the complication of a lot of gossip.”

“Yes.” She thought of her brother by the bedside of the female who had been killed. “It's almost easier to demonize him.”

“You know, when it comes to Havers, if you can forgive him . . . well, I'll never forget what he did to you, but I won't kill him if I see him. How's that?”

She laughed. “Deal. And I don't know. I guess we'll have to see what the future holds.”

“I know one thing that's coming,” he drawled, eyes going hooded.

“And what might that be.”

Her mate rose from the floor and circled her waist with his warm hands. Leaning down, he whispered, “I'm going to be the one helping you out of this dress later.”

Laughing, she put her arms around his neck and arched into him. “Does that mean I get to take your pants off at the end of the night?”

“Oh, God . . .” he groaned. “
Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee – eeeeeeeeees . . .
”