neck. He'd wanted to look nice, but the getup probably came across like he was posing for a school picture. When he heard fast footsteps, he glanced up at the open double doors. Marissa walked by, heading for the staircase and looking desolate. Butch was tight on her heels, looking worse.
Oh, no... He hoped they would be okay. He liked them both so much.
When a door shut with a bang upstairs, he walked over to the diamond-pane windows and stared outside. As he put his hand up to the glass, he thought about what Wrath had said-that Tohr was alive, somewhere.
He so wanted to believe that.
"Sire?" When he turned at the sound of Fritz's voice, the old man smiled. "Your guest has arrived. Shall I show her in?"
John swallowed. Twice. Then nodded. Fritz disappeared and a moment later a woman appeared in the doorway. Without looking at John, she bowed to him and stayed parallel to the floor in supplication. She seemed to be about six feet tall and was wearing something like a white toga. Her blond hair was coiled on top of her head, and though he couldn't see her face now, the split-second eyeball he'd gotten of it stuck with him.
She was beyond beautiful. Straight into angel territory.
There was a long silence, during which all he could do was stare.
"Your grace," she said softly. "May I meet thine eyes?"
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He opened his mouth. Then started to nod frantically.
Except she just stayed as she was. Well, duh, she couldn't see him. Shit.
"Your grace?" Now her voice wavered a little. "Perhaps... you would care for another of us?"
John went over to her and lifted his hand to touch her lightly. Um, where, though? That toga thing was low-cut and slit up the sleeves as well as down the front of the skirt... God, she smelled good.
He tapped her awkwardly on the shoulder, and she inhaled as if he'd surprised her.
"Your grace?"
With a little pressure on her arm, he brought her upright. Whoa ... her eyes were really green. Like summer grapes. Or the inside of a lime.
He gestured to his throat and then made a cutting motion with his hand.
Her perfect face tilted to the side. "You do not speak, your grace?"
He shook his head, a little surprised Wrath hadn't mentioned it. Then again, the king had a lot of other things on his mind.
In response, Layla's eyes positively glowed, and as she smiled, she knocked him out. Her teeth were perfect and her fangs were... incredibly lovely. "Your grace, the vow of silence is to be commended. Such self-discipline. You shall be a warrior of great power, you who have been bred from Darius son of Marklon's line."
Good Lord. She was seriously impressed by him. And hell, if she wanted to think he'd taken a vow, that was fine. No reason to tell her he had a defect.
"Perhaps you would like to have knowledge of me?" she said. "So that you are assured you shall have what you want when you are in need?"
He nodded and glanced over at the couch, thinking he was glad he'd brought a pad with him. Maybe they could sit there for a while and get to know one another-When he looked back she was gloriously naked, the toga thing in a pool at her feet.
John felt his eyes bug out. Holy... shit.
"Do you approve, your grace?"
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph... Even if he'd had a voice box, he still would have been speechless.
"Your grace?"
As John started to nod, he thought, man, wait until he told Blaylock and Qhuinn about this.
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Chapter Forty-five
The following evening, Marissa emerged from the basement rooms of Safe Place and tried to pretend that her world hadn't crashed and burned.
"Mastimon wants to talk to you," a little voice said.
Marissa turned around and saw the young with the leg cast. Forcing a smile, she crouched down and got eye to eye with the stuffed tiger. "Does he?"
"Yes. He says that you are not to be sad, because he is here to protect us. And he wants to hug you."
Marissa took the ratty toy and cradled it tight to her neck. "He is both fierce and kind."
"True. And you should keep him with you for now." The young's expression was all business. "I have to help mahmen prepare First Meal."
"I'll be careful of him."
With a solemn nod the young was off, pegging her half-pint crutches into the floor.