hall. To the bed where the gun was. To the chairs were the two men had turned to look at her tail and the glittering diamonds and rubies.
“Eyes on me.” Absinthe’s voice was low, a caress sweeping over her.
The pressure was slight on her collar and she went with him to her cushion and knelt up onto it, facing away from the men, toward him. Her profile was toward them. They could see her bushy, gem-filled tail, now really set ablaze by the flames. Suddenly, she became the kitten in her mind, safe, far away from everyone but Absinthe. She didn’t look at either of them. She was his and only his.
It was strange to feel safe in the persona of a cat, especially when a gun was only a few feet away and having guns and knives had always made her feel safe these past few years. She was proficient with weapons and had become very skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Still, she doubted if she was anywhere near the expertise of those in the room with Absinthe, judging by the way Adrik had been so cautious with them. Still, deep within the cat’s body, she felt very safe.
She found she liked assuming the persona of a cat for Absinthe. She would never, not in a million years, do so for anyone else, but she loved the feeling of belonging to him. She had plenty of time to analyze her feelings as she knelt beside him. She was comfortable, the fire warm on her skin. Being a kitten was a role for her, not something she needed to be. She enjoyed playing the role, but mostly she just liked being whatever Absinthe wanted from her—and the sex was spectacular.
She knew she could take the kitten thing or leave it. What was most important to her, what made her happiest, was that Absinthe was dominant in the bedroom, leaving her to follow his lead. That was what made her hot. Slinking around as a hot little sex kitten was fun, and she loved being what he wanted, but it was all for him. She loved providing for him. She needed to provide what she knew he needed. She stayed very still, wanting to be the perfect kitten for him, hoping that was what he would want.
As time went by she became aware, as she tuned herself more and more to him, that although on the outside Absinthe seemed absolutely calm, something was wrong. The two men were talking to him, but he no longer seemed to be listening. There was a fine sheen of sweat building on his body. She could see little beads of sweat on his forehead. One trickled down the side of his face. He made no move to stop it. That was so unlike Absinthe.
Steele rose, murmured his good-bye, but Absinthe didn’t look up. Savage was the one who answered, walking with him to the bedroom door while Absinthe absently stared into the fireplace. The flames seemed to roll over his face and burn in his nearly transparent eyes. He was looking inward, not outward, and she realized he was far away from her. Far away from the room, trapped back in time in the hell he’d been raised in.
Her heart began to accelerate. His skin looked off. His eyes vacant. She glanced toward the door. Savage was nowhere in sight. He must have followed Steele down the hall. The men moved so silently she couldn’t hear them. Breathing deep, she concentrated on Absinthe, trying to connect with him, follow that path they’d forged between them.
His brain was complete chaos. Horrific images were back, crowding into his mind, real demons eating him alive, consuming him. She made every effort not to change her breathing, afraid the moment he was aware that she shared those images with him, that she was too close to him, he would shut down. At least she thought he would. As she continued to share his mind and his past, she feared he had been pulled into the past. He wasn’t just going down memory lane. He was in it. Living it.
The first time she’d seen those horrific vignettes playing through his mind, she thought she was looking into hell and she’d just wanted to stop it, but now she felt it was important to see what he faced. She needed to assess the images, the ones Absinthe dwelt on, seemingly was caught in, as if he was trapped there and couldn’t escape.
There