I woke up with an arm slung over my waist, my head half off my pillow, and most of my covers gone, but it wasn't the cold that had jarred me from sleep. A hotel bed with its own heating and cooling system was a paradise compared to some of the places I'd been forced to sleep over the years. Many nights, I'd snuggled in a sleeping bag with Hannah to share warmth. If the risks weren't so high, I'd have curled up with Nixon, Thorne, or Salem. One unguarded moment that close to one of them and I was a midnight snack. Had Hannah enjoyed those moments more than I'd realized? Had Lasciel made me blind to her budding feelings?
I wiggled around, kicking off what remained of my covers so I could face Marcone. He looked older when he slept. He projected an aura of authority and vitality when he was awake. The steel in his gaze drew your attention to the faded green of his eyes, instead of the grays that laced through his hair. If he grew out the stubble, I was sure there'd be more grays than on his head. I only ever noticed the lines around his eyes when he smiled, which wasn't often.
It was startling to realize that he was in his early to mid-fifties, easily old enough to be my father. Dad had him by several years, but it hadn't occurred to me until just now. There wasn't a warm, paternal sense to Marcone. In some ways, he actually reminded me of Harry. A strong man with a philosophy and the power to enforce it. Something akin to force of nature if you pissed him off. Someone scary from the outside looking in, but who surprised me that, under the layers of pain, lay a layer of tenderness. He didn't need to stay with me, but he had because he didn't want to see me hurting and alone. God knew why he'd warmed up to me after our rocky first meeting, but he had.
I should have moved his hand off my waist, padded to the bathroom, and changed into something more substantial than a tank top and short sleep shorts. It wasn't exactly lingerie, but it was still enough bare flesh to scandalize my mother.
A horrified giggle escaped me at that thought. Oh God, what would Mom and Dad say if they knew I was sleeping in the same bed as John Marcone? Thomas was bad enough, in Mom's opinion, but at least sleeping with him had inadvertently allowed me to shake Lasciel's control. Her lips thinned in disapproval whenever I mentioned meeting with him. I think it still galled her that fornication had and continued to save my life.
Marcone's hand flexed around my waist, drawing me an inch closer before he cracked one eye open. Sleepy contentment gave way to sharp awareness in seconds but I caught an unguarded moment before he could clam up. Keen awareness of my closeness, the softness of my skin under his hand, and the desire to be touched. Not even the desire for sex, even, just the impulse to be close to someone, to share a human connection. It was gone a moment later, but I'd felt it.
He raised a brow at me. "Something funny, Carpenter?"
"So it's Carpenter now? Are you having morning-after regret, Marcone? You gonna collect your underwear and perform the walk of shame?"
He snorted. "I think if my underwear came off anytime during the night we'd be having a very different conversation."
I ignored the jibe and the speculative look in his eyes as he took in what I was wearing. Or rather, what I wasn't. I really should have put on a bra before he woke up. Sleep pants were out, though. Anything that brushed up against my stitches hurt like hell. Instead, I yanked a pillow out from under his head.
"I wouldn't have pegged you for a bed hog. I suppose you have to be undisciplined somewhere."
His gaze dipped to my chest for the briefest of moments. "Are you cold?"
"I've been colder. Hannah and I had to camp in the Sahara once, and it drops below freezing at night. This is balmy in comparison."
He considered that for a moment. "I forget how much you've been through. You're young."
"Only in years," I quipped. "You grow up fast in a war zone."
"Are you referring to the battle against Lasciel, or with the Red Court?"
"Yes."
Marcone let his hand slide away from my waist and put some space between our bodies. I supposed he deserved to be wary of me. I'd almost slit his throat the night before. If I killed Marcone it should be on purpose and for a good reason, not because of a PTSD-induced flashback.
"I was actually thinking about my parents," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "I think my dad would have a heart attack if he knew I was sleeping in the same bed as you."
Marcone's lips quirked. "Do you think he'd try to kill me?"
"No, but he might throw a punch. It's Mom you have to watch. She's got a war hammer and she's not afraid to use it. She barely tolerates Thomas."
"It must be a nightmare to bring home boyfriends."
That sobered me right up. Looking back at my storied love life was a recipe for sadness and/or deep embarrassment. Every relationship thus far had been a trainwreck. Nelson, who'd been an addict and had cost Rosie her pregnancy. Now a grieving almost-widower. Nixon, who'd been brutally murdered while I was away. Jordan, who'd become Nicodemus' hostage because I'd cared too much to push him away. Hannah, who I'd completely overlooked but who had apparently been holding a torch for me. Thomas, who was avoiding me so he wouldn't eat or enslave me.
And of course, who could forget Lasciel, who was arguably the greatest clusterfuck of them all?
"They've never met any of my boyfriends," I said quietly. "I've only had three of them. And one girlfriend, I guess. Maybe two? I'm not sure where Freydis and I stand. Thomas and I aren't...well, we can't, really. It's dangerous for both of us to get too close. Thomas is the only one I ever...and well, you don't bring your fuck-buddy to dinner with your parents."
Marcone's brows lifted in surprise. "Really? I'd always assumed...Lasciel does have a reputation."
I laughed. "Yeah, you'd think so, but she never hit me with the come-hither whammy. Not until the very end, and that was more of a Hail Mary than anything else. She always appeared around my age. Pretty but non-threatening. I think she was trying to be my peer, not an object of desire. Sex wasn't really on my mind while we fought the Reds. It was definitely not something I wanted to explore when I joined up with Nicodemus."
"So you didn't...?"
I threw my hands up. "Seriously, why does everyone ask if I slept with Nic? There's silver fox and then there's grizzled sabertooth. He's about a thousand years too old for me and a sociopath to boot. I'm glad Lasciel was blocking most of my perception of him at that time because I'm sure being inside his head would feel like being dragged over knives."
His eyes roved over me again, more clinically this time, taking in my battle scars, new and old. He examined my face, the bags under my eyes, the colorlessness of my hair, and the permanently haggard expression on my face.
"You miss her."
It wasn't a question but I treated it like one.
"Sometimes," I sighed. "For the same reason addicts return to their vices or battered women stay with their husbands. It's what you know, so it isn't as overwhelming as trying to go it alone. You think that it isn't all bad. Sometimes it feels safe. Until it doesn't. Then you're cold, empty, and hurting, and you wonder how you ended up in that position all over again. I try to use the HALT method."
"Hungry, angry, lonely, tired," he said softly. "The main stressors during recovery."
"I add an S to it. Thou SHALT not think about Lasciel when you're scared, hungry, lonely, or tired."
He looked like he might say more, but my stomach decided to make itself known, growling so fiercely that Gard and Hendricks could probably hear it down the hall. The steak and veggies last night hadn't cut it, apparently, and my body was demanding breakfast.
"Speaking of hungry, why don't we go downstairs and order breakfast? I'll leave and allow you to dress in private. I think there should be a blouse and slacks in the closet as well."
"Sure." I waited until he'd reached the door before calling out, "Oh, and Marcone?"
He half-turned. "Yes?"
I pointed to my head with a mocking smile. "Just for future reference, my eyes are up here."
His expression didn't flicker, but I caught a wisp of embarrassment before he disappeared into his room.
Score one for me.
