small rib cage, the flat expanse of her stomach. As the water rose, the hem of the towel floated loose and flirted with the tops of her thighs.
Z's heart kicked in his chest and he felt like a lecher, staring at her when she was hurt and out of it. Hoping to shield her from his eyes and wanting to give her the modesty she deserved, he went to the cabinet to find some bubble bath. There was nothing except bath salts, and he sure as hell wasn't using them.
He was about to turn back to her when he was struck by how big the mirror over the sink was. He didn't want her to see what she looked like, because the less she knew about what had been done, the better. He covered the glass with two large towels, tucking the thick terry cloth behind the frame.
When he returned to her, she'd slid down into the water, but at least the top of the towel was still sticking to her shoulders and basically staying in place. He took hold of her under one of her arms and hitched her up, then grabbed a washcloth. The instant he started washing the side of her neck, she thrashed around, the water splashing up onto him. Low, panicky noises came out of her mouth, and they didn't stop even after he'd put the little towel aside.
'Bella… Bella, it's all right. You're okay.'
She fell still and frowned. Then her eyes opened slightly and she started to blink a lot. When she tried to wipe at her lids, he took her hands away from her face.
'No. That's medicine. Leave it there.'
She froze. Cleared her throat until she could speak. 'Where… where am I?'
Her voice, groggy and hoarse as it was, sounded beautiful to him.
'You're with…'
As her glassy, unfocused eyes moved around, he leaned up to a switch on the wall and dimmed the lights. Even though she was delirious and no doubt mostly blind from the ointment, he didn't want her to see him. The last thing she needed to worry about was what would happen if her scars didn't heal smoothly.
When she dropped her arms into the water and braced her feet against the tub's base, he cut the faucet off and sat back on his heels. He wasn't good at touching people, so it wasn't a big surprise that she couldn't stand his hands on her. But goddamn, he had no idea what to do to relieve her. She looked miserable—way past crying and into numb agony.
'You're safe…' he murmured, though he doubted she believed it. He wouldn't have if he'd been her.
'Is Zsadist here?'
He frowned, not knowing what to make of that. 'Yeah, I'm right here.'
'You are?'
'Right here. Right beside you.' He reached out awkwardly and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.
And then she seemed to slide into a delirium. She mumbled, making little sounds that might have been words, and jerked around. Z grabbed another towel, rolled it up, and put it under her head so she wouldn't bump it against the hard edge of the Jacuzzi.
He racked his brain for what he could do to help her, and because it was the only thing he could think of, he hummed a little. When that seemed to calm her, he began to sing softly, choosing an Old Language hymn to the Scribe Virgin, one about blue skies and white owls and green fields of grass.
Gradually Bella went lax and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she eased back against the towel pillow he'd made for her.
As his singing was the only comfort he could give her, he sang.
Phury stared down at the pallet where Bella had just lain, thinking that the torn nightgown she'd had on made him ill. Then his eyes shifted to the skull on the floor to the left. The female skull.
'I can't allow this,' Wrath said as the sound of running water got cut off in the bathroom.
'Z's not going to hurt her,' Phury muttered. 'Look at the way he treats her. Christ, he's acting like a bonded male.'
'What if his mood changes? You want Bella on that list of females he's killed?'
'He'll hit the ceiling if we take her away.'
'Tough shit—'
The two of them froze. Then they both slowly looked toward the bathroom door. The sound coming from the other side was soft, rhythmic. As if someone were…
'What the hell?' Wrath murmured.
Phury couldn't believe it either. 'He's singing to her.'
Even muted, the purity and beauty of Zsadist's voice were striking. His tenor had always been like that. On the rare occasions he sang, the sounds that came out of his mouth were stunners, capable of making time grind to a halt and then slide into infinity.
'God… damn.' Wrath pushed his sunglasses up on to his forehead and rubbed his eyes. 'Watch him, Phury. Watch him well.'
'Don't I always? Look, I have to go to Havers's myself tonight, but only long enough to get my prosthesis refitted. I'll have Rhage keep an eye on things until I get back.'
'You do that. We're not going to lose that female on our watch, we clear? Jesus Christ… that twin of yours would drive anyone right off a cliff, you know that?' Wrath stalked out of the room.
Phury looked back down to the pallet and imagined Bella lying there next to Zsadist. This was all wrong. Z didn't know a fricking thing about warmth. And that poor female had spent the last six weeks in the cold ground.
Phury started for the bathroom, suddenly pissed off beyond belief. The territorial anger lit his chest up like a bonfire, teeing off a blaze of power that roared in his body. He clamped his hand on the doorknob—and heard that beautiful tenor changing tune.
Phury stood there, shaking. As his anger slid into a yearning that frightened him, he put his forehead on the jamb.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find another explanation for his behavior. There wasn't one. And he and Zsadist were twins, after all.
So it would make sense that they would want the same female. That they would end up… bonding with the same female.
He cursed.
Holy shit, this was trouble—of the bury-your-dead variety. Two bonded males tied to the same female were a lethal combination to begin with. Make that two warriors and you had the potential for serious injury. Vampires were animals, after all. They walked and talked and were capable of higher reasoning, but fundamentally they were animals. So there were some instincts that even the smartest brain couldn't override.
Good thing he wasn't quite there yet. He was attracted to Bella and he wanted her, but he hadn't descended into the deep possessiveness that was the calling card of a bonded male. And he hadn't caught the bonding scent coming off of Z, so maybe there was hope.
They'd both have to get away from Bella, though. Warriors, probably because of their aggressive natures, bonded hard and quick. So hopefully she would leave soon and go back to her family, where she belonged.
Phury peeled his hand off the doorknob and backed out of the room. Like a zombie he walked downstairs and headed outside to the courtyard. He wanted the cold to slap some clear thinking into him. Except all it did was make his skin tight.
He was about to light a blunt of red smoke when he noticed that the Ford Taurus, the one Z had hot-wired and driven Bella home in, was parked in front of the mansion. It was still running, forgotten in all the drama.
Yeah, that was not the kind of lawn sculpture they needed. God only knew what kind of tracking device was in it.
Phury got into the sedan, threw the thing into gear, and headed out.
