Night’s Mistress (Children of The Night #5)(34)
Author: Amanda Ashley

Logan lifted one brow. “You’re sorry he’s dead?”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant, I’m sorry you had to fight him because of me.”

“Well, I fought him, but I didn’t kill him.”

“Oh?” Her gaze slid away from his. “How did he die?”

“Old man Cordova drove a stake through his heart.”

“Vince was here?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah, and the twins, too. I should be angry with you, you know, thinking I needed backup. Even though I did,” he added gruffly.

“What happened?”

He tossed the bloody wash rag on the dresser. “I was whipping Rogen’s ass when he sent out a call for help and four other vamps showed up. Rogen was about to rip my heart out when the Cordova boys arrived on the scene.” Logan cupped her face in his bloody hands and kissed her. “How’d you know I was in trouble?”

“I’m not sure.” Taking his hand in hers, she led him into the bathroom. “I just had a feeling something was wrong.” She unbuttoned his shirt, slid it over his shoulders and down his arms, and tossed it into the trash can.

“Hey, I paid over a hundred credits for that shirt!”

“Yeah? Well, it’s beyond repair. Kick off your shoes. Anyway,” she went on, unbuckling his belt, “I tried to sense your whereabouts. I couldn’t, of course.”

She unfastened his trousers and pushed them down over his hips. Logan stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

“So I called Rane and asked him to find you. He wasn’t supposed to let you know he was there, unless you needed help.” She slipped her thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and slowly dragged them down his legs, chuckling softly as she did so. The man had just been in a brutal fight, had almost lost his life, but it hadn’t affected his libido in the least.

Catching her amused gaze, Logan shrugged. “Hey, sex is life affirming. Everybody knows that.”

“Maybe later,” she said, turning off the water. “Right now, you need a bath.”

“Are you gonna wash me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’d refuse me?” he asked with feigned astonishment. “Don’t you know that in my weakened state, I could drown?”

“Oh, please,” Mara said, fighting the urge to laugh.

He groaned softly as he sat on the edge of the bathtub. “I could have been killed.”

“You’re a vampire, remember? You’ll be your old self by tomorrow night.”

She was moving toward the door when he said, “My last thought was of you.”

His words, quietly spoken, went straight to her heart. How could she refuse his request? Blowing out an exasperated sigh, she said, “Oh, just get into the tub.”

Stifling the urge to gloat, Logan slid down into the water. Resting his head against the edge, he watched Mara through heavy-lidded eyes as she pulled a clean cloth from the stack on the sink. Dropping to her knees, she leaned forward and washed the blood from his face and neck.

Heaven, he thought as her hands moved over him. Or at least as close to it as he was likely to get. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to her touch.

Mara glanced at the water, which was turning bright pink with blood. She should have run the shower for him instead, she thought, but it was too late now. She washed him as gently as she could. So many bites and scratches, some of which would have been fatal if he had been a mortal man, while others would have taken weeks to heal. Yet even as she watched, the bruises and less serious gashes he had sustained were knitting together, fading, disappearing.

Logan opened one eye. “Why don’t you join me?”

“I don’t think so.” She grimaced at the water, which was now an even darker shade of pink. “You’ll need a shower when you get out of there.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

She ran the soapy rag over his broad shoulders and down his arms, over his flat belly and his long, muscular legs, and all the while, she tried to ignore the growing evidence of his desire and the rush of heat that pooled low in the pit of her stomach.

She wondered how many women had shared his bed. She wanted to hate them, all of the nameless females who had made love to him in the past, but it was impossible. How could she fault them for wanting him when she was aching for his touch, hungry for the taste of his kisses? When she yearned to feel the weight of his body on hers, to hear his voice whispering sweet love words in her ear?

She frowned when she met his knowing gaze.

“Aching for my touch, are you?” he asked with a roguish grin.

“Oh!” She threw the washcloth in his face. “Stop reading my mind!”

“Hungry for my kisses?” Laughing softly, he grabbed her wrist when she would have retreated. Rising to his knees, he drew her closer to whisper, “Ti amo, il mio angelo, il mio cuore, la mia vita.” I love you, my angel, my heart, my life.

And then he kissed her.

Her eyelids fluttered down, all thought of resistance melting away as his mouth covered hers in a hot hungry kiss. His hand slid under her hair to cup her nape as he deepened the kiss, his tongue mating slowly, sensuously, with hers in an erotic dance older than time itself.

“Mara.” His breath fanned the curve of her throat. “You make me weak.”

She smiled inwardly, thinking that, in spite of his wounds, he was anything but weak.

In a single, fluid movement, he rose from the tub. Lifting her with him, he carried her into the bedroom. She didn’t protest when, using his preternatural power, he bared her body to his gaze and then, murmuring her name, he lowered her to the bed and stretched out beside her.

“You’re all wet,” she murmured. “The bed . . .”

“Will dry.” He nibbled on her earlobe, raked his fangs, ever so lightly, along the side of her neck. “Let me.”

She had no thought to refuse. Whether he wanted to taste her or make love to her or drain her dry, she didn’t care, so long as he eased the need burning deep inside of her.

He was the warrior, victorious in battle, and she was the prize. He claimed her boldly, his hands worshiping her beauty as he stoked the flame of her desire and then, feeling her shudder beneath him, he uttered a wild cry reminiscent of men going to battle as he thrust deep within her, felt her silky heat surround him, carrying him to victory yet again.

Some time later, Logan rained kisses along her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the point of her chin. “So, how’s that ache?”