Venom (Elemental Assassin #3)

Venom (Elemental Assassin #3) Page 39

In the next chair over, the already healed Finn murmured a quiet good-bye and snapped his cell phone shut.

"That was Xavier, checking in," he said. "Roslyn's given her statement to the cops. She said exactly what you told her too, Gin. She told the police that Elliot Slater kidnapped her from Northern Aggression and took her up to his mansion because of what she said about him on the riverboat. That he beat her before leaving her tied to the bed. They also found the clothes and mementoes of his other victims in that closet you rifled through, the other women that he raped and murdered."

I nodded. That was the cover story we'd gone with, a way for Roslyn to be the victim that she really was in all this, instead of a twisted scapegoat to cover up Slater's many crimes.

Finn drew in a breath. "Roslyn told them the rest of it too. That she heard lots of noise, lots of screaming, and then several gunshots. That a masked figure, a woman, came into the bedroom where she was at and untied her. That the woman told Roslyn that she was the Spider and to tell everyone in Ashland what she had done to Slater and his men. Then the woman vanished into the night. Roslyn passed out, and the next thing she knew, the cops were everywhere."

Finn stared at me, his eyes bright and green in his ruddy face. "It's already all over the news. They've dubbed you a vigilante, some sort of modern day Robin Hood. Except, of course, you kill people instead of just stealing from them."

I nodded again. That's exactly what I'd wanted to happen. To set myself up as a larger-than-life legend, to distract people from the fact that I was just as human and mortal as the rest of them. People looking for legends tended to ignore the mundane, like someone who owned a barbecue joint and took classes at the local community college.

"I'm proud of you, Gin," Jo-Jo said in a soft voice.

"Proud," Sophia echoed in her raspy voice.

"Why?" I replied. "For setting myself up as a target for Mab Monroe? According to Finn, she's already got her people trying to figure out who I am and what I really want from her. She thinks I'm working for someone who's trying to muscle in on her territory. One of her many enemies."

Jo-Jo shook her head. "No. For saving Roslyn Phillips, for putting the blame on yourself instead of on her."

I shrugged. "It was my fault Elliot Slater fixated on her in the first place. I owe her more than I can ever repay for that alone. Besides, there was just no other way to work it out. Otherwise, Mab would have come after Roslyn, even though she knew that the giant was stalking the vampire."

"Still," Jo-Jo said. "It's something that Fletcher Lane would have done. I'm sure wherever he is, he's looking down and smiling at you, Gin."

I thought of the old man, of the file of information that he'd left me on my murdered family, about the fact that he'd gotten Bria to come back to Ashland to look for me. Jo-Jo was right. I felt like I was following in Fletcher's footsteps in a weird sort of way. The old man had done pro bono jobs for folks. Now I was doing one for the whole city of Ashland.

"You know what?" I replied. "I think you're right."

I dropped my head back down against the headrest. "Now, use your mojo to get me up and around again. I need to go see a man about some swords."

Jo-Jo smiled. "With pleasure, darling. With pleasure."

I knocked on Owen Grayson's front door just as the sun rose over the eastern mountains. I'd just let go of the hammer knocker and stepped back when he threw open the door and stuck his head outside. Owen wore a baby blue shirt that made his eyes seem more blue than violet in the gray dawn. His clothes were rumpled, as if he'd spent the night in them.

Owen's eyes widened at the sight of me, and his violet gaze took in my disheveled appearance, bloody clothes, and the two swords that I held out in front of me. After Jo-Jo healed me, I could have gone home, changed, and showered. Probably should have.

But the blood was part of me, part of who I was and what I did. If things were going to work between Owen and me, he had to realize what being with me really meant-and he had to accept me for who and what I was. Donovan Caine hadn't been able to do that. Now I was going to see if Owen Grayson ever could.

"Hi there," I said in a low voice.

"Hi yourself," Owen replied. He looked at my bloody clothes once more before his eyes lifted to my face. "Long night?"

I shrugged. "You could say that. I wanted to come by and apologize. I think I might have scared Eva a little last night when I came over. But there was an emergency, and I didn't have time to explain things to her. I also brought your swords back."

I held out the weapons to him. They were just as bloody as my clothes. So I stood there, and I waited. Because now it was Owen's turn to make a decision.

He stared at me again, taking in my bloody black clothes before he slowly reached forward and took the swords out of my hand. Owen looked at first one weapon, then the other. Dried blood gleamed like dull red ink on both of the blades, making it ever so obvious what I'd done with them during the long night. That I'd used them to cut and hurt and wound and kill. It was one thing to make weapons. Quite another to see their brutal application in the harsh light of a new day.

For a moment I thought that Owen would turn around, go inside, and shut and lock the door on me. That's what Donovan Caine had done, only he'd been the one to leave instead of me. But to my surprise, Owen nodded his head, then looked up and gave me a small smile.

"Come on," he said in a low voice. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Owen stepped forward, slipped his warm hand into my cold one, and pulled me inside.

He led me back to his study, where he laid the weapons inside the door. Then, his hand still in mine, he walked us down another hallway. He opened a door, and I stepped into what was obviously his bedroom. My stomach tightened with anticipation.

But instead of leading me over to the bed with its black silk sheets, Owen took my hand once more and pulled me into the next room, the master bath. I eyed the gray marble and granite that made up the enormous room. The shower was large enough for four people and even came complete with its own seats, each one surrounded by several jets of water. A place to relax and let the scalding streams pound into your muscles, if you so wished. All around me, the smooth stones whispered of water, heat, relaxation.

Owen Grayson didn't say a word as he reached into the shower and turned on the water. I started to take off my blood-crusted vest, but he stepped in front of me.

"Let me," he said.

He slowly unzipped the silverstone vest and gently dropped it on the floor. His strong, capable hands pulled my black turtleneck up out of my jeans, and I obediently raised my arms over my head so he could get it off me. My boots and socks were next, followed by my jeans. Owen did all the work, wrestling with the buttons and peeling the stiff, sticky, blood-soaked fabric away from my skin. I stared at him the whole time he stripped me. Owen's violet eyes burned brighter with every piece of clothing he removed. The desire in his gaze matched my own.

Finally, I stood there in my black bra and panties. Owen stared at me for several seconds, then removed those too, his hands gliding down my blood-flecked skin in a way that made me shiver. When I was naked, he took my hand again, guided me over to the steamy shower, and directed me to stand under a stream of water. Pink rivulets ran down my body and swirled away down the drain as the water sluiced the blood from my skin.

Behind me, I heard the wisp of more clothing and the hiss of a zipper. I smiled and reached for a bar of soap in a recess built into a wall. A few seconds later, Owen stepped into the shower behind me.

"Let me," he said again.

I turned, and he stood there naked in front of me, the distinctive foil packet of a condom in his hand. Of course, I took my little white pills so there wouldn't be any unwanted consequences. Still, nothing wrong with extra protection.

My eyes drifted over his tall frame, toned biceps, solid chest with its dark hair that ran all the way down his stomach to his cock. Even without his designer suits, Owen radiated strength and confidence. Mmm.

Owen put the condom in the spot where the soap had been. Then he took the ivory bar from me and lathered it up between his hands. Our eyes locked and held for a moment before he stepped forward and began to wash me. My face, chest, stomach. Owen slowly scrubbed the blood from my skin and hair the way someone might wash dirt off a child. But a fire began building between my thighs at his gentle ministrations. A fire that I knew was finally going to be quenched today.

When Owen finished washing me, I stepped under the hot spray of water, rinsed the soap from my skin, and finger-combed my wet hair. He stood there in the rising steam, just watching me with his violet eyes, the grin on his face telling me how much he liked what he saw. I tugged the bar of soap from his hand and smiled.

"My turn."

I washed him much the same way he'd washed me. Slowly, carefully, gently, showing him the same respect that he'd shown me. The same care and tenderness. When I finished, he stepped in a spray of water, watching the soap bubbles foam up and swirl down the drain.

"Now that we're both clean," I said in a sly tone. "Why don't we do something dirty?"

Another smile tugged at Owen's lips, softening the slashing scar on his chin. "I thought you'd never ask."

We moved toward each other and met in the middle of the shower. I threaded my hands in his slick hair and pulled his mouth down to mine. Our lips met in a kiss that was as gentle as the water cascading over our bodies-and that quickly turned into one of white-hot passion, desire, and need.

Owen growled low in his throat and backed me up against the shower wall. His hands were everywhere. My neck, breasts, stomach, hips, back. Kneading, caressing, teasing. Just like mine were all over him. Neck, chest, stomach, ass. Kneading, caressing, teasing. We couldn't get enough of each other, couldn't explore each other's bodies quickly enough to satisfy this hunger, this need that flared between us.

The slow burn between my thighs turned into a steady, building throb. Our movements became even quicker, more frantic. Our hands and caresses harder, longer, more intense. Owen's tongue drove into my mouth, only to retreat when I was breathless. I happily returned the favor. He buried his head against my shoulder, nibbling at the delicate skin of my throat. I nipped his earlobe with my teeth. Owen's hot lips slid lower, closing over first one nipple, then the other, as he sucked and scraped them with his teasing teeth. I moaned at the hot sensations pumping through my body and hiked my leg up, drawing him closer and settling his cock against me.

I slid my hand down between Owen's legs, stroking the hard length of him, lightly circling my nails over his rigid tip. He rocked his hips against me, ratcheting my desire up that much more.

"There you go again," I rasped. "Being a tease."

Owen laughed. "Why should I stop when teasing you is so much fun?"

One of his hands caressed my breast. The other dipped lower, his wet fingers trailing down my stomach and then into the very center of me, going in and out in a quick, elegant dance.

"Enough teasing," I muttered. "Get over here."

I grabbed the condom out of the wall recess, ripped it open with my teeth, and pushed Owen down onto his back on the shower floor. Once he put the condom where it belonged, I climbed on top of him, ready to get on with things. But Owen pulled me down and rolled me over so that I was on the bottom.

I arched an eyebrow. "I prefer to be on top, remember?"

"Next time," he whispered, parting my thighs and sliding deep into me.

I groaned at the sensation of him filling me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and Owen started that steady, age-old rhythm.

We bucked and thrashed against each other, each one trying to bring as much pleasure, as much feeling, as possible to the other. Our rhythm built and built until we reached that ultimate peak, our hoarse cries drowned out by the steady hiss of the hot water around us.

Chapter Thirty-One

After we finished in the shower, we wrapped ourselves in thick, terrycloth robes and headed into the kitchen. I made Owen sit while I cooked us an enormous breakfast. Spicy southwestern omelets, light-as-air blueberry pancakes, thick slabs of Canadian bacon, a sweet, mango-strawberry-kiwi fruit punch. Everything was done to perfection and tasted even better than it looked.

"And you cook too," Owen murmured, staring at the platters on the table. "Is there anything you don't do, Gin?"

"I don't know," I replied in a teasing tone. "Ask me, and we'll see."

His violet eyes darkened with heat.

We sat there in companionable silence for several minutes eating breakfast and enjoying each other's company. After we finished our first round of food, Owen looked at me.

"You want to tell me about it?" he asked in a quiet tone. "I've already seen the version on the early morning news. Quite a display you put on up there on the mountaintop."

"That's me," I said in a wry voice. "A real showwoman."

I told him everything. The problems Roslyn Phillips had been having with Elliot Slater, the giant threatening to kill Roslyn's family unless she came to him, my rush to save her. The only thing I changed was the ending, taking credit for killing Slater instead of laying that at Roslyn's feet. The vamp had been through enough already.

Owen sat there, chewing his pancakes, and listening to my bloody tale. "So is it over then?" he asked. "Are you back to being retired now?"

I looked at Owen, with his rumpled black hair and solid chest peeking out of the gap in his white robe. It would be so easy to lie to him. To say of course it was over now. That I was going to spend the rest of my days slinging barbecue down at the Pork Pit. But my lie wouldn't last long. Owen had his own sources of information, just like Finn did. The next time I took out someone in Mab's organization and left my spider rune calling card, Owen would hear about it sooner or later. But more important than that was the simple fact that I didn't want there to be any lies between us.