"The others as well. " Xcor shook his head. "That would be as far as it goes, however. "
"So your ambitions have not changed. "
"No. My methods, though. . . they will ne'er be the same. "
In the silence that followed, he had no clue what he was going to get in return: a curse, a punch, a wretched row. The instability struck him as more than fair.
"Ask me to return to you as a free male," Throe demanded.
"Please. Come back, and you have my word - though it be worth less than a pence - that you shall be accorded the respect you have long deserved. "
Aft
er a moment, his palm was engulfed. "All right then. "
Xcor released a shuddering breath, one born out of relief. "All right, indeed. "
Releasing the fighter's hand, he bent down, picked up his mostly untouched bowl of food. . . and offered what little he had to Throe.
"You will allow me to transform communications," the male said.
"Aye. "
And that was that.
Throe accepted the soup and went over to where Xcor had been sitting. Sinking down to the floor, he put the brass box on the far side of himself and began to eat.
Xcor joined him on the stain of the blood he had shed during the day, and in silence, they completed their reunion. But it was not over, at least not on Xcor's part.
His regret stayed with him, the heaviness of the burden of his actions altering him forever, like an injury that had scarred over and healed wrong.
Or rather, in this case. . . healed right.
Chapter Thirty-Five
No'One awoke in an earthquake.
Beneath her, the mattress was all a-jumbling, the great force of the disturbance pitching pillows this way and that, sending covers flying, the cold air barging in against her skin -
Her consciousness quickly redefined the cause of the chaos. It was not the earth moving, but Tohrment. He was flailing beside her as if fighting against ties that bound him to the bed, his massive body jerking uncontrollably.
He'd had that dream again. The one he refused to speak of, and which, therefore, had to concern his beloved.
The glow from the bathroom caught his naked body as he landed on his feet, the clenched muscles of his back throwing hard-lined shadows, his hands curled in fists, his thighs engaged as if he were about to spring forward.
As he caught his breath and got his bearings, the name that was carved into his skin in a graceful arch expanded and contracted, almost as if the female was alive again:
WELLESANDRA
Without a word, Tohrment stalked into the bathroom, closing the door, cutting off the illumination. . . and her.
Lying in the dark, she listened to the water start to run. A quick glance to the bedside clock indicated it was about time to get up, and yet she stayed where she was.
How many days had she spent in this bed of his? A month's worth. No, two. . . mayhap three? Time had ceased to have meaning to her, the nights wafting by like fragrance on a summer's breeze.
She supposed he was her first lover.
Except. . . he refused to take her fully.