Darkest Blade by Doranna Durgin

Author:Doranna Durgin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, dark fantasy, paranormal, good vs evil, paladin, warrior, sword, justice
Publisher: Blue Hound Visions
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Mac woke to tangled sheets and tangled limbs and tangled thoughts.

Tangled, but all his own.

His arms still throbbed beneath their pink wrappings; the pendant pressed into his skin beneath a stiff layer of duct tape. Pink cyborg warrior. No burn, no blade-given healing.

The tangle of limbs was mostly Gwen, delightful soft skin pressed against his in every possible way.

"Healthy," he murmured into her ear, "but not safe." And loved her awake to prove it, watching sleepy confusion warm to a languid sensuality, her hands reaching and then clutching—that particular surprised and husky noise he'd learned to wring from her. Once, and then he buried himself in her and did it all over again, greedy with the scent of her, the sound of her, the gift of her.

While it lasted.

He left her catching her breath and made the shower quick and careful. Even then the water in the wake of the night's activities shifted the duct tape—shifted the pendant—enough so a warning slice of retribution doubled him over beneath the pounding water.

Oh, yeah. He straightened, slow to pull himself back together. Much better to choose his own time and place.

He opened the bathroom door wearing nothing more than a pair of briefs, and ran right into Gwen. She burst into laughter as she pushed past him to close the door on his heels, trailing the sheet she wore.

"Laughter," he told the door, "is not the appropriate response to seeing me naked."

"Not naked enough," she told him, muffled by the door. "Go away. I'm busy."

Fair enough. He pulled a protein drink from the fridge, a fresh pair of jeans from his giant duffel, and downed one while climbing into the other. The knife found its way into his front pocket, and he pulled a plain heather T-shirt over his head, careful of his arms. He left his wrists to the open air—bruised, swollen and weeping—and his duct-tape arm torque peeking out from beneath his sleeve.

As he sat on the end of the bed to pull on a pair of socks, he eyed the discarded handcuffs—lying there, right next to the key—and inevitably, he scooped them up.

He didn't know who he'd be when the blade came back. That was the hard truth of it.

Gwen popped out of the bathroom long enough to grab her newly acquired toiletries and disappear again. By the time she came out for good, still draped in the sheet and heading for her suitcase, Mac had a pretty good idea what they'd be doing next.

Not what they wanted to be doing, he was sure.

"We need to go back to that warehouse," he told her.

That stopped her short, clothes gathered in her hand, sheet slipping and blue eyes narrowing. "I think some words just mistakenly came out of your mouth."

He grinned. "Nice try. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Spark showed in those eyes, faint freckles on pale gleaming skin and the red in her hair glinting with its dampness.

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