Shit, he guessed he was going to find out how. Wasn’t he.
With a gentle hand, he brushed his shellan’s cheek. “I’ve never been in a relationship before you. I should have known that we’d hit a wall at some point.”
“That’s the way it works.”
He thought of his brothers and the number of times there had been fallouts and fights and arguments among that bunch of meatheaded fighters. Somehow, they’d always worked it out—usually by popping each other from time to time. Which was a guy thing.
Clearly, he and Jane were going to be the same. Not with the popping, of course, but with the bumpy roads and the eventual resolutions. After all, this was life . . . not a fairy tale.
“But you know what the best thing is?” his Jane asked, as she put her arms around his neck.
“I don’t feel like I died anymore because you’re not in my life?”
“Well, yeah, that, too.” She craned up and kissed him. “Two words: makeup sex.”
Ohhhhhh, yeaaaaaaaaah. Except—“Wait, is that three words? Or did you hyphenate it?”
“I had a hyphen in my head. But I think it goes both ways?”
“Or is it ‘makeup,’ one word.”
“That’s also a possibility.” Pause. “Have I mentioned you are the hottest geek I’ve ever known?”
“I resemble that remark.” He dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers. “Just keep it to yourself. I have a reputation as a hard-ass to protect.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
V grew serious. “I’m safe with you.”
Jane touched his face. “I can’t promise you we’re not going to hit rough patches again, and I know we’re not always going to agree. But on this I’m very sure—you will always be safe with me. Always.”
Vishous drew her close and tucked his head into her throat. He’d assumed there were no more levels to go after she’d died and then come back to him in her lovely, ghostly form. But he was wrong. Love, he realized, was like the daggers he made in his forge: When you first got one, it was shiny and new and the blade glinted bright in the light. Holding it against your palm, you were full of optimism for what it would be like in the field, and you couldn’t wait to try it out. Except those first couple of nights out were usually awkward as you got used to it and it got used to you.
Over time, the steel lost its brand-new gleam, and the hilt became stained, and maybe you nicked the shit out of the thing a couple of times. What you got in return, however, saved your life: Once the pair of you were well acquainted, it became such a part of you that it was an extension of your own arm. It protected you and gave you a means to protect your brothers; it provided you with the confidence and the power to face whatever came out of the night; and wherever you went, it stayed with you, right over your heart, always there when you needed it.
You had to keep the blade up, however. And rewrap the hilt from time to time. And double-check the weight.
Funny . . . all of that was well, duh when it came to weapons. Why hadn’t it dawned on him that matings were the same?
Rolling his eyes at himself, he thought, Christ, maybe Hallmark would be open to establishing a line of medieval-inspired Valentine’s Day cards, some kind of a Holly-Goth-Lightly kind of thing. He’d be frickin’ perfect for supplying content.
Closing his eyes, and holding his Jane, he was almost glad he’d lost his shit, just so they could get to this place.
Well, he would have picked an easier route if there had been one. Except he wasn’t sure it worked that way. You had to earn where they were now.
“I have a question to ask you,” he said softly.
“Anything.”
Pulling back a little, he stroked her hair with his gloved hand, and it was a while before he asked what was on the tip of his tongue.
“Will you . . . let me make love to you?”
As Jane stared at Vishous and felt his body against hers, she knew she was never letting him go. Ever. And she also knew that if they could make it through the past week, they had the staying power that good marriages—or matings—required.
“Yes,” she said. “Please . . .”
Her hellren had come to her so many times since they’d been together: in the night and in the day; in the shower and in the bed; clothed, unclothed, half-clothed; fast and hard . . . hard and fast. The edge in him had always been part of the excitement—that and the unpredictability. She never knew what to expect—whether he was going to demand things of her, or take control of her body, or restrain himself so that she could do whatever she wanted to him.