Page 32 of Bones

“Tell her before she finds out on her own.” Reaper’s voice is as soft as it can be--soft like the rasp of a cat’s tongue. “Trust me. It’s better for a mate to hear the truth from you than anywhere else.”

The way he says it makes me study him shrewdly. He’s not looking at me, though. His gaze is distant, like he’s lost in his own memories. With a start, I realize that his words were spoken with experience. But Reaper isn’t mated, or hasn’t been the entire time I’ve known him. Maybe he had someone back in the Hells, before I was under his command.

I stand, his eyes snapping to me when I move. “When do we move against Xavius?”

“When Stubs has a solid bead on his location. You’ll be ready to go.”

Of course I will; that was never in question. I don’t bother answering before I leave his office, my shoulders heavy as if I’ve a thousand pound weight chained to my neck.

With footage of Xavius and Paul, it’s a matter of hours--not days--before Stubs knows Xavius’ current location. Reaper is right, as much as I wish to all the hells he wasn’t. I need to tell Sloan about who I am and the souls I carry within me. Even when she turns away from me, I will still love her. I’ll still destroy anyone in this world who tries to hurt her.

And if that includes me? For Sloan, I’ll do it. Once Xavius and Paul and all the rest of those Light Justicar fuckers are gone for good, if she never wants to see me again, she won’t. I’ll protect her for the rest of her life, love her for the rest of my eternally damned one, from the shadows and consider myself blessed for the privilege.

20

SLOAN

This room, over a month ago, was a strange cell for me but no less a prison. I’d been Bones’ responsibility after he’d chosen to spare me. Back then, none of us knew why he’d make that choice. Now, though, it makes sense.

My cheeks ache as another smile takes me over, unable to help it. Not even the memory of Paul can diminish the bright warmth that’s taken root in my chest. Elation has followed me out of Dr. Grayback’s office all the way back to the motorcycle club’s clubhouse. I hadn’t cared that I was returning to the place I’d been kept by Reaper’s orders. Even then, this place is more comfortable to me than the justicar’s compound ever was. Now it’s more than comfortable.

I’m surrounded by His scent, his clothes, the little things he’s collected over the years and liked enough to bring inside and surround himself with. Before, I was never interested in exploring. When I was in here, I’d sit on the large bed pushed up against the wall or sometimes, if I felt brave enough, I’d peer out between the blinds. The room is on the second floor and overlooks the gravel drive between the house and the massivemetal building the motorcycle club uses as a garage. At first, it had worried me that they had me in a place that showed glimpses of their strength as if in a subtle threat. Now, I realize they didn’t care what I saw.

The Knights of Hades demons are powerful in a way that doesn’t require declarations.

They don’t need to threaten their enemies or allies with fear. Theirs is a strength intense enough that the consequences of betraying them are inherently understood.

A door closing down the hall tugs me back to the world around me and I’m drawn to the lone shelf over an age-darkened worn wooden 6 drawer dresser filled with Bones’ clothes. There’s an untidy stack of cards at the edge, like he’d had it neatly organized before tossing it up on the shelf and not bothering to straighten it. I pull the stack down, the glossy material smooth under my fingers as fascination fills me.

Moving to sit on the bed, my eyes are glued to the photographs I’d found. I flip the first one, a shot of the Las Vegas Strip, over but the back is blank. There’s no date printed, either by the printer or Bones. I move to the next one, another one in Vegas I’m pretty sure, of a white French Bulldog wearing a glittering bodysuit and black pompadour wig sitting on the wall of a fountain. With each photo, I learn more about Bones. There has to be at least fifty photos in the stack, some of them printed with dates as old as thirty years ago.

A picture of a beautiful redhead staring directly at the camera with a vixen-like expression makes me pause. She’s wearing a denim mini-skirt, a Metallica concert tee that’d had it’s sleeves torn off and the neck cut deep enough to show off her generous cleavage, and black Doc Martin boots. She’s sittingon a motorcycle, her hands braced on the gas tank, her arms squeezing her breasts together and hiding the dark gap exposed by the skirt.

She looks like a woman who knows who she is and what she wants. She looks like she *takes* what she wants.

She doesn’t look anything like me.

There’s no date on this picture but I guess it must have been some time in the nineties. Who was she to Bones? A past lover? She had to be important if he kept this picture.

I can’t even find it in me to be jealous. She’s so full of life, so full of confidence that I feel myself falling a bit in love with her.

“That’s Myrah,” Bones says quietly, startling me. I look up, cheeks flushing at being so thoroughly caught snooping. He’s leaning in the open doorway hands in his front pockets, one heavy boot crossed over his other ankle.

My eyes go back to the woman in the photo, turning her name over in my mind. “Was she one of your lovers?”

He snorts and I watch him as he comes into the room, idly kicking the door closed with his heel. “You were more her type than me,” he says, his face soft even with his skull tattoo.

“Oh.” My cheeks flame again. “Where is she now?”

“She died. Two days after that picture.”

I’m not sure what to say, his tone making it clear he isn’t interested in talking about her anymore. He takes the stack of pictures from my hands and I let them go without protest. He tosses them haphazardly back onto the shelf before turning back to me.

The hunger in his bronze eyes has my mouth drying and my body responding with an answering heat. His nostrils flare as he scents me. There’s something intensely primal and sexy about being with someone that can literally smell how turned on you are from a distance. It only makes me more wet.

Bones closes the distance between us in two quick strides, fast enough that I gasp. Taking advantage of that, he captures my nape in one of his massive hands, my hip in the other, dragging me towards him until he’s devouring me. His tongue invades my mouth, his hands crushing my body against him. I melt against him, submitting to his demanding kisses.

I marvel at the trust I have in this male, when not even two months ago I’d believed I’d never be willing to open myself up to being hurt. I never thought it possible for me to even be able to desire to trust someone as much as I want to trust him. To feel a connection greater than I had ever before.

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