Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18)

With a little sigh, she leaned her head against the back of the lounge and closed her eyes as she continued to massage his scalp. His hair was thick and soft, almost like the pelt of an animal. She knew his hair probably grew wild due to the enhancements Whitney had done on him.

The lounge was comfortable, built for a large man and wider than most couches. The sound of the wind blowing through the trees coupled with the scent of Jonas surrounding her made Camellia feel secure in a way she hadn’t for a long time. Not that she hadn’t felt safe with Middlemist Red and the underground mycelium network, as well as her sentries, the owls and wolves. It was the camaraderie of having another human close to her—connected to her. She had missed being touched. She’d forgotten what that felt like, the tactile experience. She couldn’t get enough of just having her fingers in Jonas’s thick hair. Rubbing his scalp. Easing the ache she knew was there. She liked being able to do that for him.

* * *

Jonas reached up and ran his finger down Camellia’s bare arm. He didn’t think he’d ever get over how soft her skin was. He’d never get enough of touching her. He didn’t open his eyes, just inhaled her and took her into his lungs. He loved the way she smelled. So subtle. To him, that faint fragrance was an aphrodisiac. But more than that, she smelled like home.

There was beauty to Camellia that she didn’t see in herself at all. Whitney had told her how useless she was. The one person she believed in, the one person she’d dared to love as family, had betrayed her. That made her feel as though she was nothing. A throwaway, just as Whitney had told her she was. Jonas knew better. Camellia was . . . extraordinary. A miracle.

He had no idea how he’d gotten lucky enough to have any chance with her at all, but he was determined to proceed carefully, choosing his way as if walking through a minefield, because he knew her value. He wasn’t going to chance losing her. He’d given her the opportunity to walk away from him twice. He’d done that for her. There had been a part of him that was well aware of how she might be treated when they arrived at the compound. He didn’t want that for her. She’d stayed. She’d chosen him. That meant he needed to always give her his best.

“Jonas,” Camellia murmured his name softly. Almost a groan. “Stop. I’m not that wonderful. See me. The real me. Don’t put me on a pedestal. I need to be a real person to you, not some saint I can’t possibly live up to.”

Her fingers worked magic in his scalp and in his mind, helping to push the night’s work to a distance. Interrogations were brutal, especially with someone like Crawley. He’d been arrogant, determined to resist. So certain he was better than they were. Smarter. They couldn’t possibly break him.

First, Jeff could get into anyone’s head. That was just ugly right there. Jonas could physically break anyone, and that was as vicious as it got. Then there was Gator with his sound that cut through a body and turned insides to mush, literally. Put all three together and Crawley told them everything he knew. None of it had been good, but they knew what they were facing. Jonas was going to have to live with what they’d done to try to save their families, and it wouldn’t sit easy with him.

“I don’t want a saint, Camellia. I’m so far from a saint it’s not funny. A saint wouldn’t be able to be in the same room with me.”

They’d had this discussion before. He knew it was important to her, or she wouldn’t keep bringing it up. He wasn’t going to dismiss her concerns, even though he knew they weren’t valid. He did see her. The problem was she didn’t see herself the way she really was. That was true of so many people. Perhaps even him. He tried to turn the spotlight on himself and be realistic, but it was always possible he missed the mark.

“Look what’s in my mind. See me, Jonas. I don’t want to have to tell you. Not tonight when the night is so beautiful.”

Her voice shook just a little, but her fingers were steady, never wavering. She didn’t need to make her confession aloud to him. He saw, in her mind, what she considered her worst shame. She shared it with him. She didn’t want him to come to her, to accept her as a partner, without realizing she held grudges and she could be ruthless.

Jonas wanted to smile. Ruthless. His little Camellia thought herself ruthless. She could be when she needed to, and that was a good thing. She would defend their children. Their home. Herself. She wasn’t afraid to go after an enemy. She wouldn’t wince or argue when he did what needed to be done. She would go into battle with him and create the best illusions and never falter when he killed inside those illusions. So yeah, he supposed that she could call herself ruthless if she wanted. Those things might earn her that title in someone’s book. Not his. But someone’s.