Night Unbound (11 page)

Her hand was so small and delicate within his. Her touch warm.

Giving his hand a light squeeze, she offered him a shy smile, turned, and led him into her home.

Lisette wondered at her daring.

She could hear Zach's heart pounding in his chest, nearly drowned out by her own heart's attempts to burst from her breast. Did he feel the same thing she did? That sort of nervous, yet delicious excitement that she hadn't felt since she was a girl embroiled in her first infatuation? It had been so long, she had almost forgotten how wonderful it was. How alive it made her feel. How . . . happy?

Zach was so much older. So powerful. He had no doubt seen and done things she couldn't even imagine. Why would her touch make
his
pulse race?

Fatigue and weakness must surely be the cause.

“Have you eaten?” she asked him, trying hard to sound nonchalant.

“No.”

She glanced down at her bloody clothing, stiff and crusty in places where the wind had dried it on her way home. “Give me a minute, then I'll fix us both something tasty.”

His fingers tightened around hers momentarily. Then, releasing her hand, he nodded.

“Make yourself at home.” Dashing downstairs, she entered her bedroom, tugged off her clothes, then slipped into the shower. Hot water sluiced down over her, rinsing the blood from her body. As steam rose around her, she tugged the tie from the end of her braid and unwound it.

She heard no movement above. Was Zach so quiet that even
her
sensitive ears couldn't detect him?

Hell, for all she knew, he could be in her bedroom right now, peeking into the bathroom.

Spinning around, she rubbed the foggy condensation from the shower door and peered through the glass.

No tall, dark form blocked the doorway.

Grabbing the soap and washcloth, she gave her body a quick scrubbing.

Seconds later, the hot water rinsed the frothy lather from her skin and left her clean once more. A quick towel dry, followed by a frustrating competition between her comb and the tangles in her long, wet hair, and Lisette found herself standing before her open wardrobe, vacillating over what she should wear.

Something pretty? Or the usual combat-ready clothing?

Sighing, she chose the latter. She was already feeling oddly unsure of herself. Why wear something that might not inspire the response she wanted and would make things worse?

She refused to contemplate exactly what response she was hoping for and donned clean hunting togs. Black pants that rode low on her hips. A black T-shirt. She even added the socks and boots.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she shook her head. As a mortal and the daughter of a French aristocrat, she had worn corsets and layer upon layer of clothing, had stuffed her feet into fashionable shoes that had pinched and mangled her toes, had spent hours styling her hair since she had lacked the easy-to-use styling products available today, and more. It had been miserable. It had been ridiculously time-consuming. And she had looked lovely.

Now this. Most nights she didn't mind dressing like a man, which was what wearing pants had been considered in those days. It was a hell of a lot more comfortable and far less trouble. But every once in a while, she missed feeling pretty and feminine.

Turning away from her reflection, she left the bedroom.

Upstairs she found Zach in the same place she had left him. While only a few minutes had passed, she had nevertheless expected him to at least seat himself in the living room.

“When I said make yourself at home,” she said, striding toward him, “I meant for you to have a seat in the living room and make yourself comfortable.”

He glanced at the living room. “Oh.”

She waited for more.

Nothing came.

He reminded her a bit of Roland in that moment. Maybe he was antisocial, too. Or, for whatever reason, simply wasn't comfortable in social situations. He wouldn't be the first shy immortal she had met. Alleck, the German immortal who visited the network periodically at Seth's request to compare notes with Melanie, was about as shy as they came, and he was hundreds of years old. “Do you have a taste for anything in particular?” she asked as she headed into the large kitchen. She had a feeling if she hadn't asked the question, he would have continued to stand near the front door.

Slowly, he followed. “No.”

She paused, fingers curled around the refrigerator door handle. “Do you need blood? I'm sorry I didn't think to ask earlier.”

“No, thank you.” He frowned. “Did you give me blood while I was unconscious?”

“No. Should I have?” she asked, unable to abandon the suspicion that he wasn't an immortal. Not like her and the rest of the Immortal Guardians anyway.

“No.” He had the most deliciously smooth, deep voice. “I'm an elder. I don't need blood to heal.”

Which told her nothing. Seth didn't need blood to heal either. She tried to recall if she had ever seen David infuse himself with blood and couldn't.

Opening the door, she considered the packed-from-top-to-bottom refrigerator's contents. (Tracy always kept it full enough to feed at least half a dozen.) Her brothers were big men, but weren't big meat eaters. Étienne had once complained that he could eat a whole cow and still be hungry afterward. So they preferred vegetables and fruits that were more filling. Lisette was a carbohydrate fiend. She simply could
not
get enough pastas, breads, potatoes, etcetera. And fighting vampires burned a lot of energy.

“Would pasta be okay?” she asked. “Tracy just made a huge pot of chunky veggie pasta sauce, so it'll be a quick and easy fix.”

Zach didn't respond.

Glancing over her shoulder, she found him staring at her. “Zach?”

“I shouldn't be here.”

She couldn't place his accent. It was similar to Seth's, which neither she nor her siblings had ever been able to identify. Eastern European? Egyptian? South African? Russian? She just couldn't tell.

But Zach's was a little softer, almost British.

“I thought we had already covered that,” she said.

“The Others will be looking for me.”

She drew the big pot of sauce from the fridge and set it on the stove. “Are you going to tell me who the others are?”

“No.”

“Because you're the big, strong, silent type?” Common traits found in immortal males.

“Because they'll kill you if they find out you know.”

A sobering thought. She turned on the burner.

“They'll likely kill you if they find out you aided me as well.”

Well, hell. She had just thought he didn't share because he liked his privacy.

“I shouldn't have come here. I don't even remember how I got here last night.”

“I'm not sure how you did either. I was asleep and only heard it.” She began filling a second pot with filtered water. “It sounded like you fell out of the sky, hit the roof hard, then rolled off onto the ground. I don't know how you could have flown with your wings as damaged as they were, so maybe you teleported and miscalculated.” Richart had done that several times when he was sorely wounded and couldn't think straight. Not that long ago, when drugged by Dennis, her brother had accidentally teleported to his mortal girlfriend's apartment instead of David's house and outed himself as an immortal.

“I should go,” Zach announced.

Denial gripped her. “Can't you just—I don't know—block them or keep them from finding you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you doing it now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don't see any reason for concern. If they were going to find you, they would've done it while you were unconscious and would have already come and gone, wouldn't they?” And slain them both, judging by his grim expression.

“I would've thought so, yes.”

“Then relax.” Lisette gestured to the table in the breakfast nook. “Have a seat. This won't take long to prepare. And you must still be weary.” Shutting off the water, she set the pot on the stove and turned on the burner beneath it. Next she took down a big box of uncooked rigatoni from an upper cabinet.

“Why are you doing this?” Confusion colored Zach's voice.

Lisette set the pasta down and gave him her full attention. “Doing what?”

He hesitated. “Helping me. Being . . . kind to me.”

Why indeed? She kept getting deeper and deeper and deeper into this . . . whatever this was. “You saved my life.”

His lips tilted up in a faint smile that seemed to reflect cynicism, relief, and disappointment all at once. “Ah. You feel obligated. I understand now.”

“Not obligated,” she corrected. “Grateful. And . . .”

“And?” he prompted.

“Don't you know?” she asked curiously. “Haven't you looked into my thoughts?”

“No.”

Interesting. Seth and David seemed to lack any reservations when it came to reading the minds of their charges. And, if she were honest, she and Étienne intruded on their friends' thoughts far more often than they should. One would think Zach, perhaps the antithesis of Seth, would possess even fewer scruples.

Or did he lie?

Could he be testing her to see if she would tell him the truth?

Hell, what did she have to lose at this point?

Crossing the kitchen, she stopped a foot away from Zach and tilted her head back to look up at him.

“Ask me again,” she ordered softly.

“Why are you doing this?” he murmured.

“Because I'm drawn to you, Zach.”

His heart began to beat faster.

As did hers. “I'm drawn to you in a way that makes me want to risk everything just for the chance to know more of you.”

His eyes lit with a mild golden glow. “Why?”

She gave her head a slow shake. “I don't know. But I suspect . . . I
hope
. . . that it's the same for you, that that's why you came here—to me—when you were so badly injured and needed help.”

He raised one of his hands and, almost as though she were a bird he feared he might frighten away, captured a damp strand of hair that dangled in front of her ear, testing its texture with his fingers. “I came to you because you were all I could think of while I was being tortured.” He drew the lock closer to his face and breathed in the citrus scent of her shampoo. “I came to you because you were all that enabled me to endure it.”

I am in so much trouble here,
Lisette thought. Reaching up, she caressed his face, delighting in the rasp of his stubble against her fingertips and palm.

He stiffened.

“Is this okay?” she asked, wondering if he had gone so still because she was hurting him.

“I'm not accustomed to being touched,” he whispered.

That surprised her . . . and didn't. Zach was so incredibly handsome. One would think women would throw themselves at him everywhere he went.

At the same time, though, he really did remind her of Roland. So untrusting. So solitary. So apart from everything and everyone. Who knew
how
long Roland had gone without a woman's touch before Sarah had come into his life. Perhaps it had been the same for Zach.

“I touched you in my dream,” she said.

“That was different.”

“How so?”

“It wasn't real.”

In the dream, he had reached up and held her hand to his cheek. He had kissed her. Touched her breast. Set her body aflame.

He did none of that now, though he looked as though he wanted to.

“Should I stop?” she asked, filled with uncertainty. She didn't
want
to stop.

He nodded.

Hurt pricked her. Did he not like her touch?

“The water is boiling,” he said, never taking his eyes from hers.

Oh. She hadn't even noticed.

Lowering her hand, she turned and headed back to the stove. Her long hair trailed through his fingers, then slipped free.

“Have a seat,” she encouraged once more, trying to get her pulse back under control.

Finally, Zach relaxed enough to sit down.

Lisette didn't hear him move. She just glanced over and found him sitting sideways in a chair at the table, one arm resting on the chair back and the other on the table, the tips of his wings brushing the floor behind him.

 

 

“How are your wings?”

Zach watched Lisette move around the kitchen as she prepared their meal. “Better.” He flexed his wings the tiniest bit. Pain arced through him like an electric current, but he bore it in silence. “They'll be healed soon.”

“Good.”

His heart still raced from her nearness.

Her hand had been small and warm against his jaw, her touch tender. So many feelings had inundated him, all new and unfamiliar, that it had been a struggle to speak.

“Is tea all right?” She removed a large pitcher from the refrigerator.

He nodded.

His skin still tingled. His thoughts raced.

No wonder,
an inner voice spoke with awe.
No wonder Seth left us
.
No wonder he abandoned the cold, sterile existence of the Others and sought the companionship of humans.

When Seth had first seen the human woman he had taken as his wife thousands of years ago, had he—like Zach—been instantly fascinated? Had his life changed course that very day? Or had Seth, like Zach, spent weeks or months watching her until he became willing to risk all just to speak to her? Hiding his fixation from the Others. Shielding his actions and whereabouts so none of them would guess.

And
none
of them had guessed. Zach had been as shocked as the rest of them.

Lisette approached—he loved to watch her move—and set a tall glass of tea on the table beside him.

Zach curled his fingers around the cold glass to keep himself from reaching for her. “Thank you.”

She smiled.

Trebly rock music filled the kitchen.

Zach cursed whoever was calling when Lisette backed away and drew her cell phone from a back pocket.