intense fear, something close to panic. “What do I do? Arcayos, you have to tell me what to do…”
In his corner, Mister meows, long, yowling, terrified cries.
“Mister, it’s okay, he won’t hurt you!” I shout.
On my couch, the warrior thrashes and bucks. He gives an especially violent spasm and a loud roar. Any second, the neighbors are going to come banging on the door. Mister hisses and darts across the room into the bedroom. Poor, sweet bastard.
Arcayos’ body stops thrashing. He flops onto the couch, his eyes close, and he’s suddenly still. Fallen into what I hope is only a deep sleep.
Tentatively, I touch his face with the back of my hand and jerk it away.
He’s ice-cold. His once warm, almost hot, skin gives off a chill that penetrates through my gloves.
At a loss for how else to help him, I go into the bathroom and quickly wash off my hands and gloves. Christ, there’s so much blood. I pull the gloves back on, then grab as many blankets as I can from the closet and return to him.
Arcayos hasn’t moved, and his eyes are still closed.
Was he telling the truth about my energy being able to heal him faster?
Sighing, I lay three blankets over him, take off my leather jacket, and crawl under the blankets with him, my warm skin to his cool flesh.
Removing my badge and sidearm, I stow them in the drawer of the coffee table as quietly as I can. Better keep that gun close at hand, just in case.
The warrior’s breathing is low and hoarse. I put my arms around him, holding him close. Trying to will as much of my energy and warmth into him as I can.
“If you die on me,” I say, pulling the blankets over us, “you’re a dead man.”
I jerk his powerful arms around me and lay my head onto his chest. The medallion is still glowing its slow, white, throbbing beat. I hope that doesn’t mean he’s dying a slow death.
This man, or whatever he is, feels incredible, strong and iron hard, as if nothing could get past him. Safety wraps around me, my muscles relaxing for what feels like the first time in forever. I let out a jaw-cracking yawn.
He smells delicious, like some richly seductive spice.
I nuzzle his neck, breathing him in. Resisting the sudden urge to lick his strange skin, feel its roughness on my tongue.
An ache throbs between my legs. I mutter a curse. His large, craggy palm feels rough on my bare back. The chill of his skin makes me shiver, but I bet under normal circumstances, his hands feel like heaven. I bet he knows how to use them.
My nipples poke at his chest, and I groan. “This is ridiculous. You better not be shitting me about this energy thing.”
His hand twitches on my back. Did he hear me?
At least I know he’s alive.
Arcayos murmurs something unintelligible. His arms tighten around me like bands of steel. Damn, he feels good.
Ricky bit it, just like Claire, and I didn’t stop it. I close my eyes, fighting back the memory of both lying dead. My arms tighten around the warrior as though my body is seeking comfort from him of its own accord.
Traitor.
I just saw this guy kill three more men. Colburn would never forgive me.
“I’m not going to arrest you.”
I blink at the copper standing in front of me. He and four other cops just busted into the warehouse behind us, caught me working for a forger I heard them say they’ve been hunting for years, and shot him dead. I still feel a little shaky, seeing him with a bullet hole in his chest. Still think he’s going to march out of the warehouse and drag me back in, ordering me to get back to work or get my teeth knocked in.
I put my hand on my hip and cock my head at the officer. “What game are you playing, copper?”
His mouth turns down. “Detective. And it’s no game.” He unlocks the cuffs the other cops put on me.
I look back at the warehouse. The other officers are all inside, processing the scene, as they call it.
“You’re lettin’ me go? Yeah, right. I get off scot-free, just like that?”
“Nope. Not scot-free. There’s a condition.” He gives my gloves a curious look and pockets the cuffs.
“I knew it. Are you a pervert? ’Cause if you are, I ain’t getting you off.”
Man’s got the gold band on his finger, but that don’t mean squat.
“Life’s really