He expected her to sink back down in exhaustion, her frenetic fit of energy draining her, but instead she twisted around to catch his face in trembling fingers. Her mouth descended on his like a desperate invasion, her tongue plunging in, her insistence such that her new fangs scraped his lips. The grip on his shoulders tightened, a strength in her hands that hadn't been there a blink before.
Instinctive resistance stiffened him, but Daegan's hands overlapped hers, his thumbs resting on Gideon's collarbone. “Easy, vampire hunter.” His voice was barely a murmur, such that he wasn't even sure Anwyn heard it. “She's all right. She's just using the power she knows, to command a man's body.” While he wasn't thrilled to be touched by the vamp, the quick, neutral tap of those thumbs reminded him they were dealing with a hurt, frightened woman trying to come to grips with things in her own unique way, not an attacking vampire. He didn't relax, but he did stop struggling, trying to focus on something else other than those fangs so close to his throat.
When a turning first happened, there was a short, intense adrenaline surge, which he expected had been spent by the stress of what Barnabus had done to her. That first surge was followed by weakness, which she'd been demonstrating up until now, but then bloodlust and fits of vampire strength would begin to occur in unpredictable staccato bursts that would get longer and longer, until the savage bloodlust took over entirely. Without the blood of the sire, as Daegan had said, it would descend into permanent madness.
He'd gone through the worst of those cycles with Jacob during the first week or so, though of course his brother hadn't felt the need to mouth-fuck him. Which was a good thing, because Gideon would have staked him, blood relations or not.
A wave of trembling took her. Strength drained away, the fit passing and weakness returning.
“Feels wrong,” she gasped as her hands slipped off his shoulders. Gideon caught her waist again as she swayed. “Sick, Daegan. I feel so sick.”
“Let's get her in the tub,” Daegan advised, threading his hand through her hair and massaging her skull as she leaned into the touch, closing her eyes. “She's not going to throw up yet. It's just the body's conversion—”
“Not physical,” she snapped, her head jerking up. “It's like bees, and boiling . . .” With a howl, she clapped her hands to her head, her nails digging in.
Christ, the nails. Gideon remembered a second too late. Fortunately Daegan, while not remembering any sooner, had vampire reflexes. He snatched her hands away from her face a mere second after she sliced herself with the razor blades fitted beneath the tips, leaving a shallow cut across her cheek that had come perilously close to the eyes.
“Those need to come off,” Daegan said shortly. “Give me your knife again.”
“No.” She tried to yank back from him, but Gideon had her body and Daegan her wrists.“Don't touch me .”
Though it came out as a vicious scream, the irrational anger fortunately wasn't backed by another round of that burgeoning new strength. As Gideon held her, Daegan did it, so quick he saw only brief flashes as he skinned the nails as smoothly as a pear's skin. The lethal tips hit the floor with tiny plinks.
“Anwyn.”Daegan caught her shoulders.
The vampire's command resonated through the bathroom, and possibly the entire lower level. Gideon knew generals—not to mention high school teachers—who would give a left nut to freeze motion and rivet attention as Daegan did with two syllables. Who the hellwas this guy?
“That's enough,cher . We are trying to help, not hurt you.” Anwyn was breathing hard. “I know, I know.” When she sagged back into Gideon, he closed his arms around her, his throat tight at her distress. “I can't bear this. Oh God, Daegan, I can't control it.”
“You don't need to.” Kneeling before her, he cradled her face. With his knee pressed to the outside of Gideon's, the vampire was close enough for Gideon to see the strain around his mouth. “You're here, with us. I've never known your intuition to be wrong,cher , and you have asked the two of us to be with you. Which means you know you can trust us to care for you, no matter how bad it gets. All right?” She lowered her head, pressing her face deeper into his hands, even as her fingers increased their clasp on Gideon's forearms. Giving in to natural impulse, Gideon brushed a kiss along the crown of her head, let his lips linger there.
“You don't trust each other, though.” She murmured it into Daegan's flesh, her face too pale and gray.
“One is not required for the other,” Daegan responded, giving her jaw a light, reproving squeeze. “Don't ask for miracles,cher . One is enough for today. Do you still want your bath?” She nodded, her gaze moving to Gideon. “I want you two with me. Please. I'm sorry.” He wasn't sure why she was apologizing, because neither of them would willingly leave her side right now, but he nodded to reassure her. As she grasped the counter and began to lever herself out of his lap, he restrained his desire to carry her to the tub. If it was him, he knew he'd want to prove he could do something on his own, even if it was only the ability to walk. Once she was upright, though, she had to lean back against his body and rest.
Daegan watched her, his eyes gentle where a blink before they'd been stern, though the authority in his voice remained steady as he echoed Gideon's thoughts. “You will not apologize to us again,cher . There is nothing for you to be sorry about.”
She nodded, her chin tightening. She took three steps toward the tub before she staggered. Or she would have, but Gideon and Daegan were already there, each man placing a steadying hand under an elbow.
Daegan nudged her toward the shower, though. “Let's rinse the blood off first,” he suggested.
Gideon remembered earlier in the evening, when he'd washed Trey's blood off his clothes and body, watching it swirl crimson and pink into the drain. Thinking of Anwyn having that blood with her in a bathtub, where she'd be sitting in it, he grudgingly appreciated Daegan's foresight.
When they reached the shower, Daegan removed the duster as Gideon steadied her from behind. As he pushed it free of her shoulders, it dropped to the floor, puddling on Gideon's boots. Whatever was in her expression made something kindle in Daegan's dark eyes, something that reminded Gideon of how quickly she'd turned to him at the counter and kissed him, seeking to abolish the memory of other tastes in her mouth.
That had been a moment of desperation, and he'd been convenient. Though she'd said she wanted them both here, feeling the energy of that obviously long-standing link between them start to fill the room like the bathtub's steam, he realized he didn't belong here. It was a cold and unpleasant feeling, but this was about her, not him.
“I'll wait outside while you two . . .”
Anwyn turned immediately. “No. I want you both in the tub with me.” Daegan locked gazes with him, and Gideon recognized the look well enough. He damn well better not make her beg. She couldn't take that right now. Of course, looking at her raw eyes and shattered expression, Gideon didn't think he could, either. He nodded.
The vamp guided Anwyn into the shower. He turned on the sprayer, keeping it away from her until the water warmed; then he took the nozzle out of its holder and began to gently run it over her head and shoulders. He stepped in with her, heedless of his own clothes, let her hold on to his waist and arm as needed as he washed away the surface blood.
The lacerations on her upper body had closed a little more. They were still ugly gashes, but where the skin had been torn back, it had now realigned itself. She was still moving stiffly, but didn't seem to be in high levels of pain anymore. That was an encouraging sign, but Gideon knew she would scar if they couldn't get the sire's blood. He wished again that Anwyn had some close female confidante who could handle all these things at which he sucked so badly, the nurturing and caring. He wanted to run that bastard down. How could Daegan remain so calm, so unhurried?
Yet Gideon couldn't accuse him of not giving a damn. The very control that Daegan was exercising had a simmering power to it, a reserve that was building into something. He wondered if Anwyn even picked up on it, because it seemed to vibrate on a very male frequency that thrummed between him and Gideon whenever their eyes met.
Taking her out of the shower, Daegan brought Anwyn back to the tub, easing her down on its porcelain edge. Making sure she was steady, he turned away, carelessly unbuttoning his wet black shirt and straightening the cuffs to unfasten them. The garment fit his shoulders perfectly, as only custom-tailored clothing did. It wasn't the first time Gideon had sourly wondered whyGQ style always seemed to come along with the great looks of the vampire species. Even Jacob, who'd always had bohemian taste in clothing, wore his T-shirts and jeans with an entirely different air, as if the clothes melded to his body better since he'd become a vamp.
Fuck it. Since it was obvious they might need to help her wash, he could take off everything but his jeans, so she didn't feel so vulnerable, sitting there fully naked, the curves of her body so female and exposed it made it hard for him to speak. When he slid the tongue of his worn belt free, she leaned against the tile wall, her eyes drifting to him. “Stay facing me, Gideon,” she said softly. “I like to watch a man undress.”
It was damned unexpected, hearing the shadow of the tone he'd heard only a few hours before. But each time he'd had a narrow escape, he'd felt an almost immediate, burning urge to find another vamp and stake him with a vicious triumph, reinforcing that he still lived. That Gideon Green the vampire hunter still existed. Because that was the core of his identity, who he was.
Anwyn Naime was a Domme. He'd known it, felt it down to his soul when she first walked into the Queen's Chamber. Just like him, she was already moving to reclaim that, reassuring herself that they hadn't destroyed what made her who she was.
It was so good to see her reaching for it, he obliged without complaint. Propping a shoulder against the wall, he tugged off one boot, then the other. Hell, it was just skin, and he wasn't that modest, anyway.
