were clean, there was black blood on his forearms.
He had killed tonight.
She supposed she should feel some kind of triumph that a lesser had been taken down. But as Zsadist walked over to the bathroom with a pair of sweats draped over his arm, she was more interested in his well-being.
And also... his body. He moved like an animal in the best sense of the word, all latent power and sleek strides. The sex that had stirred in her the very first time she'd seen him rocked her again. She wanted him.
As the bathroom door shut and the shower started to run, she rubbed her eyes and decided she was out of her mind. The male pulled away at the threat of her hand on his arm. Did she actually think he'd want to lay with her?
Disgusted with herself, she looked over at the food. It was some kind of herbed chicken with roasted potatoes and squash. There was a glass of water and a glass of white wine, as well as two bright green Granny Smith apples and a piece of carrot cake. She picked up a fork and pushed the chicken around. She wanted to eat what was on the plate only because he'd been thoughtful enough to bring it to her.
When Zsadist came out of the bathroom with only the nylon sweats on, she froze and couldn't stop staring. His nipple rings caught the candlelight, and so did the hard muscles of his stomach and arms. Along with the star-shaped mark of the Brotherhood, his bare chest had a fresh, livid scratch across it and a bruise.
"Are you injured?"
He came over and measured the plate. "You haven't eaten much."
She didn't reply as her eyes got caught on the curving hip bones that rose above the low waistband of the sweats. God... just a little lower and she would be able to see everything.
Abruptly she remembered him scrubbing himself raw because he thought he was filthy. She swallowed, wondering what had been done to him, to his sex. Wanting him as she did seemed... inappropriate. Invasive. Not that it changed the way she felt.
"I'm not terribly hungry," she murmured.
He pushed the tray closer to her. "Eat anyway."
When she started in on the chicken again, he took the two apples and walked across the room. He bit into one and sank down to the floor, sitting cross-legged with his eyes lowered. One arm settled across his stomach as he chewed.
"Did you have dinner downstairs?" she asked.
He shook his head and took another hunk out of the apple, the crack ricocheting around the room.
"Is that all you'll have?" When he shrugged, she muttered, "And you're telling me to eat?"
"Yeah, I am. So why don't you get back to work there, female."
"You don't like chicken?"
"I don't like food." His eyes never wavered from the floor, but his voice got pushier. "Now eat."
"Why don't you like food?"
"Can't trust it," he said tightly. "Unless you make it yourself, or can see it whole, you don't know what's in it."
"Why do you think someone would tamper - "
"Have I mentioned how much I don't like talking?"
"Will you sleep beside me tonight?" She blurted out the request, figuring she'd better get her answer before he shut up completely.
His brows flickered. "You really want that?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then, yeah. I will."
As he polished off the two apples and she cleaned the plate, the silence wasn't exactly easy, but it didn't crackle, either. After she was finished with the carrot cake, she went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. By the time she came back, he was working the last apple core with his fangs, picking off the little bits of flesh that were left.
She couldn't imagine how he fought on such a diet. Surely he must eat more.
And she felt like she should say something, but instead slid into bed and curled up, waiting for him. As minutes ticked by, and all he did was surgically trim that apple, she couldn't stand the tension.
Enough, she thought. She really should go somewhere else in the house. She was using him as a crutch, and that wasn't fair.
She reached out to throw the covers back just as he uncoiled from the floor. As he walked to the bed, she froze. He dropped the apple cores next to her plate, then picked up the napkin she had used to wipe her own mouth. After rubbing his hands with the thing, he took the tray and carried it out of