Temptation, Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 3 (21 page)

“I keep it now and always,” Gideon added, “to protect my mate…and our child.”

Just like that, time seemed to stand still. Michael froze midbellow, even forgetting to move, gaping at Gideon in stunned, accusatory silence. Samuel gave Gideon a strange look, one somewhere between shock and understanding, between horror and hope.

“Go,” his unlikely ally finally said, just as Michael hit Samuel like a freight train with murder in his eyes.

“Go!” Samuel ground out as he used every bit of his strength to hold Michael back. He was fast losing the battle.

It went against every fiber of his being to run from a fight with Michael. But there were far more important things at stake than his pride now. Shooting the straining titans one last glance, Gideon turned and sprinted down the alley. He hopped on the big Harley parked at the end of the block, fired it up and sped off into the night.

Chapter Twenty

Maggie sat on the couch in front of the fireplace in Gideon’s den, an open book in her lap as she stared at the flames crackling in the grate. All the things Xander and Niklas had told her bounced around in her head, unable to settle. But it all boiled down to immutable fact.

Gideon had to absorb souls to survive.

He was a dangerous, ruthless demon. But she never felt safer than when she was with him. He’d also given her the one thing she’d always wanted. The chance, the means, to learn how to protect herself.

He’d given her far more than that, she reflected wryly, gently cradling her flat abdomen.

She connected with him more deeply than she’d ever connected with anyone else. But he had to absorb human souls to survive.

Could she live with that?

The sound of footsteps approaching the door drew her attention. Expecting to see Kyanna or Carly, though they’d told her they’d give her some space, she was surprised when Gideon entered the room.

He paused in the doorway the moment his gaze connected with hers. He seemed to draw in a bracing breath, his wide shoulders lifting as his muscular chest expanded. Then, without a word of acknowledgement, he dragged himself across the room to the elegant minibar in the corner. Maggie went up on her knees and twisted around, propping her elbows on the back of the sofa, to watch him.

He picked up a crystal decanter and poured a more-than-healthy amount of liquid the same burnt amber color as his eyes. She waited as he put the glass to his lips—the lower one cracked and swollen—and drained the glass in one long series of gulps.

Even now, knowing what she knew about him, she still wanted him. She watched his long lean fingers—his knuckles scraped and bloody—cradle the crystal, and she wanted those hands on her body again. She watched those seductive, abused lips as they parted to accept the amber liquid, and she wanted to feel them pressed to her skin once more. She wanted the wild abandon of his lovemaking more than she wanted her next breath.

More frightening, she wanted to snuggle into him. Wanted to lay her head on his chest, wanted to hear the steady thud of his heart. She wanted to feel his arms come around her and hold her tight. And she wanted, just for a little while, to let him shoulder the weight of the cares that were crushing her.

As he set the glass down to refill it, she studied the condition of his knuckles a little more closely. They were split and bruised. And his left eye was beginning to swell shut. Glass full once more, he took another sip, and grimaced. He finally crossed the room, and gingerly took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. She remained silent as he removed a throw pillow, noting that he seemed to be favoring the left side of his ribs.

Maggie took the rest of his appearance in now, from head to foot, in the soft light of the fire. His hair was mussed more than normal. His clothing was torn in places and patched with dirt and blood.

He looked as if he’d been in a barroom brawl. She hoped, given the fact he was still upright and moving around, that he’d won.

But there was something else about him that was different. Something…more.

Despite the swelling and bruising, despite the caution in his movements, his skin was a healthy, glowing pink now. His stare twinkled just a bit brighter. She knew, from what the others had told her, that absorbing souls strengthened his own essence, that—supposedly—it had no effect on his humanlike physicality. That he relied on normal human food for that.

All that aside, she was still convinced he looked different. He…glowed with good health, despite his battered appearance.

Disconcerting.

Frowning, she clasped her hands in her lap. “How bad’s the other guy look?”

Gideon shot her a gimlet stare and grunted, taking another big gulp.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said, unable to help herself. She’d never been able to stand to see another suffering. Even if he’d probably brought it on himself.

Scooting over, she claimed possession of his free hand and drew it closer for inspection.

“I need a first aid kit,” she murmured. She thought she’d noticed one in the bathroom cabinet upstairs in her—
his
room.

Before she could rise, a white box appeared on her lap. Startled, she bobbled the case before grabbing hold of it and setting in on the couch between them.

“Thank you. But you could have warned me,” she admonished.

Grunting again, he put the glass to his lips once more.

“So,” she remarked as she opened the box and found what she needed. “Do you do this often?” She pinched her lips together when he started a bit as she applied antiseptic to his knuckles.

“Often enough,” he assured her. The alcohol he’d consumed must have begun to kick in, because he actually leered at her now. “You gonna play doctor whenever I come home all banged up?”

She frowned her disapproval.

“Who were you fighting?” she asked. Gideon grimaced when she dabbed a little too firmly at his split lip.

“Your father.”

In an instant, the things Niklas had told her about the relationship Michael and Gideon had shared came back to her. She fought the urge to cringe, hoping against hope that this particular fight hadn’t been over her.

“My…oh. Why were you and Michael fighting?”

“I’ll give you three guesses and the first two—” He broke off, glancing at her stomach. “Well, the first one, at least, doesn’t count.”

“Oh God,” she said, dropping the folded cloth to her lap as she drew back. She felt slightly sick, though she didn’t quite know why. Michael’s reaction shouldn’t matter to her. Not in the least. “You told him about the baby?”

Gideon nodded.

“And that we… That you and I…”

“Kind of hard to have one without the other, now isn’t it?”

“Why does it bother me?” she asked in wonder, shaking her head, not really realizing she was speaking to herself out loud. She swiped the cloth up and began rubbing at the blood by his swollen eye, ignoring the way he cringed away. The big baby. Served him right. “I mean, it’s not like he’s ever been a real father, after all. He was never there when I needed him. Never there when I wanted him to be there. Why should it matter what he thinks?”

Only when Gideon grabbed her wrist did she realize she’d had him bent backwards over the arm of the couch, cowering away from her as she’d angrily scrubbed at his face with the alcohol saturated cloth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, sitting back, horrified.

Cautious, he settled back in his seat. “One good thing came of it. Samuel knows now.”

“Samuel?” She held up a tube of triple antibiotic.

He eyed it for a moment, then glanced uncertainly at her. “That’s all right, thanks anyway,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh, good grief,” she snapped, grabbing hold of his chin. But she was more careful now.

Before he could utter protest, she began gently daubing the ointment on his cuts. “Who is Samuel?”

“Samuel is an Angel of Justice. Technically, he’s part of Michael’s flock, but he’s fair to the point of fault. He’s more willing to listen to all sides of the story and take all the circumstances into consideration before he makes judgment.”

“And he’s on our side?”

As soon as the words
our side
left her mouth, she caught her breath.
Our side.
When had she cast her lot in with Gideon and his friends? Or was she just referring to herself and Gideon? Or herself and the baby? Or all of the above?

Oh, she felt sick all over again.

“He’ll listen. But”—he motioned toward the sad shape of his face—“I didn’t exactly have time to explain much. Michael had other ideas about the way we should spend our little bit of quality time together.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she smoothed her thumb over a nasty bruise forming on his jaw. “He shouldn’t have hit you. Not over me.”

“If it hadn’t been over you, it would have been over something else.” He snorted. But, as his gaze finally landed on her face, he must have seen something there that didn’t sit well. “Hey,” he said, sitting up a little straighter and drawing her hands into his lap. “This wasn’t your fault. Michael and I…we have some issues that started long before you were even born.” He frowned then, as if something had just occurred to him he’d not thought of before. Drawing a deep breath, he shook his head, focusing on her once more. “Not your fault,” he said again.

“Oh, but—”

“Stop arguing with me.”

“But, Gideon—”

Gideon leaned down, capturing her lips gently with his. Probably just to shut her up, she reflected for all of two seconds. And then her body took over, responding to his on a fundamental level. Her lips parted of their own accord, and her tongue swept out to tangle with his.

Gideon gave a deep groan and swept the first aid kit to the floor. His mouth firm on hers, he dragged her across his lap. He anchored one hand on her hip to hold her in place, and tangled his free hand in her hair. He claimed her lips, slanting his mouth over hers again and again, tongue plunging, plundering, staking claim.

Lost to a whirlwind of sensations, Maggie looped her arms around his shoulders and melted into him. Just as the hand on her hip began angling up beneath the hem of her shirt, the door of the den swung open.

“Maggie, I think I heard Gideon’s motorcycle,” Carly called as she swept into the room. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

Maggie tore her mouth from Gideon’s and glanced at the doorway, slightly dazed. She looked back at Gideon just in time to see him staring down where his hand rested on her abdomen. He flinched, and then she found herself rudely deposited on the sofa while he beat a hasty retreat behind his desk.

Mortified to have given in to his kisses so easily, humiliated to have been rejected—yet again—in front of his friends, Maggie struggled to her feet. Leaving the contents of the first aid kit scattered on the rug where they’d fallen, she walked with as much dignity as she could muster toward the door. She would not run.

But oh, how she wanted to.

“Excuse me,” she said to Carly, edging around her as she headed for the doorway.

“Maggie, I—”

“I’m very tired,” Maggie said, unable to meet the woman’s sympathetic brown eyes. “I think I’ll turn in. I’ve had quite enough excitement for one day.”

She slipped from the room, closing the door behind her. She paused for a moment just outside the room to collect herself, her dignity in tatters.

But she must not have gotten the door all the way closed, for she heard Carly softly admonish, “Why aren’t you going after her?”

Despite her better judgment, Maggie found herself leaning toward the door, straining to hear his response. A ball of something hot and uncomfortable swelled in her chest making it difficult to breathe.

Gideon heaved a deep sigh she could hear all the way across the room and through a mostly closed door. “It’s better this way.”

Carly pressed, “Why are you working so hard to put so much distance between the two of you?”

“Who said it’s hard work?”

Maggie heard the clink of glass and the slosh of liquid.

“Gideon, I love you like a brother, you know that. But right now you’re behaving like a spoiled jackass.”

Maggie’s eyebrows shot up and she clapped a hand over her mouth, silently cheering Carly on. There was a firecracker with a mighty bang hidden inside that tiny little body. Unfortunately, Gideon was behaving like a wounded bear.

“Sweet sentiments from candied lips,” he remarked.

Maggie just barely restrained herself from leaning against the door in despair. Carly would give up now and Maggie would never hear his answer—the real one that actually mattered.

“Why?” Carly demanded with dogged determination, raising another notch in Maggie’s esteem. “Maggie’s got to be feeling pretty scared right now. Think about it from her perspective, Gideon. She can’t go home, and it’s probably best if she doesn’t go back to the career she so obviously enjoyed. She has no family but for a father who can’t, or just plain won’t, acknowledge her. A very pissed off Archangel father, I might add. She’s pregnant and surrounded by strangers. You’re the one solid thing in her world right now, Gideon, like it or not. And you’re pushing her away. Why?”

Maggie’s head snapped back. Niklas’s mate was human. And yet, Carly had managed to understand her far better than all these supernatural beings combined. Maggie would have died then and there of embarrassment if it hadn’t been for the fact that she desperately needed to hear Gideon’s answer.

A long beat of silence followed. She could hear the squeak of the chair behind Gideon’s desk as he plopped down.

“Gideon, talk to me,” Carly coaxed so softly Maggie almost didn’t hear her. “What are you thinking?”

Maggie held her breath.

“I didn’t give her a choice, darlin’. When I took her, I didn’t give her a choice. Not when I took her from Portland, and not when I…when I claimed her. And not when I got her pregnant. I won’t take her choice from her again.”

“Is that it?”

“What do you mean,
is that it?
” Gideon demanded, incredulous. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Carly murmured. “I don’t exactly see her beating you off with a stick.” There was a shifting, shoes shushing over carpet.

Maggie realized the footsteps were coming closer. She spun around and scurried through the foyer, sprinting up the stairs, not stopping until she had the bedroom door closed behind her.

Wasn’t there some old adage about eavesdroppers? Well, it seemed she’d just gotten a heaping helping of serves-her-right.