Stone of Ascension (21 page)

“Feeling better?” he said softly, the husky notes stroking her skin in a warm glow.

She nodded. “Yes. Much.” She clutched her hands, forced her gaze away from his naked torso and stepped away from the door. “Your turn.”

Being alone with a male, sharing a bathroom, completing mundane tasks were all out of her scope of experience. The intimacy of the situation unnerved her more than the threat of dragons or fireballs.

“Here,” he said, stepping behind her. “Let me help.”

Before she could refuse, he gently unwrapped the towel from around her head, letting her wet hair fall free, but catching it with the towel before the strands soaked her shirt. With the softest of touches, he rubbed the thick towel over her hair, periodically squeezing and rubbing until most of the water was absorbed into the cloth.

Amber closed her eyes and let the tender touches relax her further. His kindness, the juxtaposition of the stoic warrior quietly drying her hair was more poignant than any words he could have said. Her bare toes curled into the soft carpet, the fibers scrunching under the pressure.

“Stay here,” he said, the warmth of his breath caressing her neck. In a second he’d returned from the bathroom with a brush.

“I can do it.” She cleared her throat to remove the scratchiness that had assaulted her voice and extended her hand.

“So can I.”

The brush massaged her scalp and tugged lightly as he patiently pulled it through the long mass. She lost track of time, forgot about all the stresses that pushed at her and simply let him take care of her. The steam from the bath heated the room and brought with it a damp moisture that cloaked the air in weighted heaviness.

The nerves that held her stomach tight loosened with each touch. With each soft pass of the brush, the feeling of belonging grew within her. The stone hummed a warm, consistent murmur between her breasts and the energy flowed languidly through her in rhythm to Damian’s patient brushing.

“Your hair is beautiful,” he said close to her ear, the heat of him warming her back even though he didn’t touch her. “It amazes me that it’s as silky and smooth as it looks.” He ran his fingers through it. “So soft.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

“Has it always been this long?”

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. His face was sincere, questioning. “Yes. As annoying as it sometimes is, it’s a part of me. A part of who I am.” She looked down, the force of his gaze too powerful. “I think I would be lost without it.”

The brush stilled, and she felt the flush creep over her face. Why had she told him that?

His hands held her shoulders when she tried to step away. She heard the quiet thud of the brush hitting the carpet before he rubbed the tight muscles at the juncture of her neck.

“You are not your hair,” he said, his voice both firm and gentle. “You would be beautiful with or without it. Strong if it was long or short. Courageous even if you were bald. The outer trimmings do not change the core of who you are.”

Unbidden, she leaned back into the steady pressure of his hands. Her head tilted forward and she sighed. “It would seem that you have a very different perception of my core than I do.”

“Isn’t that true of most people? It’s very rare that we see ourselves as others see us.”

A short puff of air left her nostrils in a sound of agreement; a small smile curved her lips. “Very true.” His fingers continued their gentle rubbing of her neck up to the base of her skull. Amber bit her lip to keep the moan from escaping. After a moment she asked, “So how do you see yourself?”

He chuckled, the low tones scurrying over her spine. “The important question is how do
you
see me?”

His hands didn’t stop their work, but she felt his body tense behind her. The expectation hung in the air, her answer far more significant than the simple question posed. Her tongue bathed her dry lips with moisture, and she closed her eyes to shutter her thoughts even though he couldn’t see her face from where he stood.

She pulled strength from the darkness, inhaled deeply, exhaled it all. Her voice was low, but steady when she finally spoke.

“I see the strength of a man who bears the weight of many without complaint. One filled with loyalty and honor despite the injustices that have been committed against him. A man courageous enough to stand up to his people even though it meant abandoning all that he wanted.”

His hands stilled. She heard him swallow. “And you see this in spite of all that I’ve done to you?”

She turned to face him. His grip tightened on her shoulders when she met his probing gaze. She may have had her doubts about all that had happened to her, about everything that had been said about her. But she had no doubts about the man before her.

“And what exactly have you done to me?” she challenged him. She reached up with a shaky hand and circled the burn wound on his shoulder with her fingertips. “You’ve protected me when you didn’t need to. You’ve saved me when you could have turned your back. You were,
are
, willing to sacrifice your life for mine. So tell me why I would see anything different?”

The pain that slipped across his face surprised her. She’d said too much. Again. Damn it. She had no experience with these types of situations. Of expressing her emotions, especially to a man. Instead of comforting him, she’d caused him pain.

She looked away, dropped her hand and tried to step back. Again, he stopped her. Why? His hands slid up the sides of her neck until they cradled her face. A slight pressure forced her head up until she met his gaze. The pain she’d seen was gone. In its place was a tenderness she’d never seen in him. His features had softened, his eyes a deep blue that held her in a paralyzed trance.

“Because I started all this,” he said, his voice low, insistent. “It’s because of me that you are here. That people are after you. It’s my fault that you are hunted.” He shook his head and looked down. “My selfishness has caused all this.”

She chuckled, a brief rumble of disagreement. “I don’t believe any of that.” His head lifted, his eyes narrowed in doubt. “This was all set in motion before you showed up. From the second that Asian man gave me the stone, my life was changed. I might not understand everything, but I know that without question. You are not at fault for where my life is.” She tentatively pressed a hand to his bare chest. The heat warmed her palm, the energy tunneling down her arm to burrow into her chest.

“No,” she whispered, the trepidation making her voice soft. “You are only a part of where my life is going.”

“Amber,” he breathed, his thumb caressing her cheek. “You offer too much. There is so much you don’t know about me. About my past.”

“Then tell me. Trust me to understand. Trust that the energy is right.”

That fast, he shut down. Abruptly, he stepped away. His hands dropped to grip his hips. He looked away, his focus on the open doorway to the bathroom. The hard lines of his profile were void of all tenderness, chiseled now out of stone.

The silence spread between them, the gap widening to form a plunging cavern of unsaid words. Amber crossed her arms tightly across her chest, her hands gripping her arms in an attempt to hold the pain inside. To keep it locked away where no one would see it.

Damian moved toward the bathroom without a word or glance in her direction. The door clicked quietly closed and the innocent sound broke her heart open.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but surprisingly there were no tears to hold back. The rejection—his rejection—stabbed at her, a thousand knife wounds aimed at her heart. How could it hurt so badly?

Her bird curled inward, tucking its wings tightly around its body. A lone tear rolled from its eye, the single drop shed for her.

Amber shivered; the cold invaded her system and plagued her with self-accusations. All the blistering taunts, blatant hatred and disgusted glares she had lived with her whole life came racing back to beat at her mind. Tortured memories that held her in their icy grip.

Damian didn’t believe in the energy. He didn’t trust it or her. Apparently, she wasn’t good enough for him. He’d said she was brave, strong, courageous—all noble words, but none of them expressed his feelings toward her.

Again, she was the fool. She’d been willing to trust, to believe, so easily. Longing for love so desperately that she jumped—no, vaulted—at the first sign of interest from a man.

Pathetic.

But no more.

Straightening, Amber loosened the death-clamp on her arms and slowly exhaled. The soothing breath blew away the self-deprecating tirade she battled. She picked up the forgotten brush from the floor and pulled on the strength Damian spoke of. She dug up the courage he professed she held and turned her back to the bathroom door. She moved away from him, steady steps toward the bed where the food waited on a tray, the dishes encased under metal lids.

Calmly, she set the brush on the bedside table and crawled onto the bed. The pain securely trapped back inside. The thoughts banished.

Her heart beating but locked tight against further invasion.

The water rushed over Damian’s head, sending hot pellets of damnation into his shoulders, across his back, into his heart. He’d hurt her.
Fuck
.

Of course he’d hurt her. She’d opened herself to him, showed him her shining light of innocence, trusted him with her hope. And what had he done? Kicked her in the gut and stole her candy all in the same asshole stroke.

He
was
evil.

Had to be to do that to her.

Damian groaned, rubbing his palm over the pain in his chest. Not the battle wound, but the soreness that radiated from deep in his torso.

He tipped his head back and let the water sluice over his forehead and stream down the sides of his face. The steam rose around him, the water heated to a scorching punishment. He deserved more. Shame rammed against the brick wall encasing his emotions. The wall toppled with barely a protest. But then it had been slowly crumbling since he’d first touched Amber.

Cursing—violent, harsh words—Damian shook the water from his face and yanked the soap from the holder. A millennium. A thousand years of fucking isolation. Years of loneliness that had stoked the simmering anger, the burning resentment that ate at him over the injustices piled on him. Of the false accusations and betrayal until he’d finally closed off the emotions. Buried them all before they buried him.

Until Amber.

Damn it
.

He scrubbed the soap furiously over his skin, scouring harshly as if the simple bar could cleanse the dirt from his soul. His shoulder protested, the stiffness and pain a reminder of what was at stake. Of exactly how deadly this battle was and how threatened Amber truly was.

The subtle cinnamon scent of the soap reached his nose. His nostrils flared, opening wide to inhale the aroma. His dick throbbed as her scent surrounded him. He’d been hard since she’d stepped out of the bathroom all fresh and soft. The slight hesitancy in her movements, the uncertainty that radiated from her. It called to him. She called to him.

Images of Amber assaulted his mind. Of her standing up to him, challenging his assertions of who she was. Of her fighting to get to him, to save him from his people. Of Amber standing over him, hair lifting with the energy as she reached for the power and used it. Each image showed who she truly was. Why she was the Marked One.

There was serious power within her. Still fresh, untapped. Innocent like her.

So was he to believe that he, Damian, was the Chosen One?

So much had happened so fast that he hadn’t even had time to process all that
he
had learned today. The shaman had said that Amber was his. Saved for him.
Fuck
.

Damian scrubbed a hand over his face, trying desperately to make sense of it. The logic didn’t match what he was feeling. What everyone was trying to tell him. Amber wasn’t the only one whose world had turned upside down in a day.

Slamming the soap back on the shelf, Damian cut the water and stepped from the shower. It was time to face the mess he’d created. Hiding in the bathroom wasn’t his M.O. They needed to talk—about the facts—and keep the emotional stuff out of it. It didn’t matter what she thought of him.

His dragon spread its wings wide and hissed in denial.

What did it know anyway? Hell, the damn mark had sprouted wings today. It was yet another thing that eluded explanation. After a thousand years of torment because of the white fucking dragon on his hand, the damn thing decided to grow wings. On the day he found Amber. Coincidence? Not hardly.

But what the fuck did it mean?

Yanking his jeans back on, Damian rubbed the towel over his hair then gave the locks a quick finger comb. Leaning forward, he checked his shoulder injury in the mirror. The wound from the fireball was already partially healed and would probably be gone by morning. The burn mark on his thigh was smaller and shrinking at a steady pace. Amber’s little boost of energy seriously accelerated his healing time.

His shirt was toast, and he didn’t see a convenient change of clothing lying around, so shirtless he would have to stay. The hole in his jeans only added to the
GQ
cover look. He scoffed at his appearance. It was a far cry from the CEO image he’d begun the day with.