The metal winked at me again, and I realized that a symbol had been stamped into the hilt. I peered more closely. I recognized it immediately, of course.
A small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. A spider rune.
My rune. My knives.
"Do you like them?" Owen asked, his violet eyes light and hopeful in his face.
For a moment I couldn't answer him. I was just so touched and slightly stunned by the thoughtfulness of his gift and all the work that had so obviously gone into the knives. Even with Owen's elemental talent for metal, it would have taken him hours, maybe even days, to make each one of the weapons. No one had ever given me something so personal, so perfect before. And the fact that it was Owen who was giving them to me ... Once again, I let myself truly hope that things would be different with us, and that our relationship wouldn't end in disaster like my last one.
"They're perfect," I whispered. "Absolutely perfect. But when did you have time to make them? We've only been ... together a few weeks."
Owen shrugged. "I started thinking about the design a while back when I realized just how much you liked knives."
I stared at the silverstone weapons glinting in the black foam. "And you're giving them to me now, giving them to me early, because of LaFleur, aren't you?"
"I am."
Once again, I stared into Owen's eyes, searching for any sign, any hint, that he was somehow disgusted by my plan to kill LaFleur. That deep down, he simply abhorred who I was and the bloody violence I was so easily capable of dishing out without hesitation or regrets of any kind.
But there was nothing in his gaze but understanding. And I was beginning to think that was all there would ever be. That Owen would never show the disgust and disappointment my previous lover, Detective Donovan Caine, had. That Owen would never leave me as Donovan had because of my being the Spider. However crazy it was, Owen understood me-and he fully accepted what I was and the things I had to do to keep the people I loved safe.
"You know," I said, my voice thick with emotion that I couldn't quite hide. "You didn't have to stay at Jo-Jo's last night. And you didn't have to listen to Finn and me talk about the best way to kill LaFleur this afternoon. If you'd left me there, I would have understood. If you don't want to know anything about what I do when I go out late at night, I would understand that too."
Owen gave me a faint, slightly sad smile. "Still comparing me to Donovan, eh, Gin?"
I shrugged. "I was an assassin for a long time, Owen. I might be retired, but part of me will always be the Spider. Always be ready, willing, and able to do what I have to do, no matter how violent or bloody it is or who I have to hurt in the process. These last few weeks with you have been great. All I'm saying is that I understand if the novelty's worn off and you want to get off the carousel ride now before it kills you."
"I admit that you being an assassin has certainly made things ... interesting," Owen said in an honest voice. "But I also think you're the most fascinating woman I've ever met. Strong, caring, and fiercely loyal to the people that she loves. I'm no choirboy, Gin. And I don't expect you to be one either. I'm a lot of things, but a hypocrite isn't one of them."
He stopped and drew in a breath. "As for the knives, I made them because I knew you would like them. I knew you would use them. And I made them because I wanted you to have the best damn weapons available when you do go after Elektra LaFleur, Mab Monroe, or whoever's on your hit list at the moment. I want you to come back to me, Gin-in one piece. Always. That's why I made the weapons for you. Because if I can't be there, then at least they can. And they're the best damn pieces I've ever made because I made them for you."
I might have been sleeping with Owen for the past few weeks, but I hadn't let him get close to me. Oh, I'd told him all about my past, about the night that Mab had murdered my family, about Fletcher taking me in off the streets and teaching me how to be the assassin the Spider, even about Bria being back in town and all the conflicted feelings I had toward my sister. But I hadn't let him get close to me, hadn't let him have any real piece of my heart.
Maybe it was time to change that.
I put the silverstone knife back in the case, closed the lid, and set it down on the floor beside the bed. Then I threw off the blankets, scooted over to Owen, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pressed my lips to his.
The things I was feeling weren't subtle, weren't safe and small and cautious, and neither was my reaction to Owen. My tongue plunged into his mouth, hot and demanding, even as I crawled up and straddled him, rocking back and forth, telling him exactly what I wanted, exactly what I needed-him. Now. Always.
After a second of hesitation, Owen growled low in his throat and responded in kind, his tongue dueling with mine for control. A minute later, we broke apart, already breathing heavily. But the kiss had done nothing to quench my desire for him. If anything, it had only made my need flare that much brighter, that much hotter. I already felt close to exploding. Or perhaps that was because of everything I was feeling-things I just couldn't put into words. Not now, maybe not ever. But I could show him how I felt-again and again and again.
I moved in to kiss him again, but Owen held a finger up to my lips.
"Wait, wait, are you sure you feel up to it?" he murmured. "We don't have to-"
I rocked forward again, slowly grinding against him. Then my hand dropped to his stomach and moved lower, stroking him through the thick fabric of his pants, showing him exactly how up to it I felt.
Owen reached for me, and our lips met again. We spent a long time just kissing, just exploring each other's mouths, reveling in the other's scent, taste, feel, touch. Finally he reached for me, ready to take things to the next level, but I slid off the bed. I wanted this to last, to be something special, if only for tonight. Because I knew it might be my last, if LaFleur had her way.
My eyes locked with Owen's, gray on violet, both gleaming with heat, passion, need, desire. I stretched my arms up over my head. And then I started to move.
I did a slow, sinuous striptease for him, curving my body this way and that, shedding one piece of clothing at a time as I went along, letting the fabric float away to the floor. Owen sat back on the bed and enjoyed the show, although the desire burned that much brighter in his gaze, with every bit of myself I revealed to him.
Finally, when I stood naked before him, I held out my hand. He took it, and I pulled him off the bed and up to his feet. Owen started to gather me in his arms again, but I moved around him, still teasing. Sliding my hands this way and that across his chest. Touching him here, then there, lower, harder, softer, gentler, until the muscles in his neck bulged from the strain of standing still.
I moved behind him, running my fingers through his thick, black hair, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck.
"Let me undress you," I murmured in his ear.