Heart squeezing, I stretched up and kissed him. What was supposed to be a thank-you turned into something a little more, and it was several moments before Zayne rolled off me. I got a little hung up in staring at the markings on his back, but finally got my body moving.
I hurried to the bathroom, my heart beating way too fast as I brushed my teeth and cranked on the water. There was a dizzying rush of anticipation and nervousness, and an acute sense of surreality as I stripped off my clothes, toeing them into a corner and then picking them up, actually making use of the empty laundry hamper. Quickly grabbing the other small piles of clothing scattered about, I tossed them where they belonged and, before I started giggling like I’d been afraid of or passed out, I stepped under the hot spray.
My senses were so hyperaware that my hands were trembling as I turned slowly. It wasn’t that I was scared. It wasn’t like I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t anything like that. It was just that everything felt like...like it was a first. The showering together thing definitely was, but even though we’d experienced all manner of kisses and so much more, everything felt different and new now.
Water plastered my hair to my back and streamed over my body as I looked down at the numerous fading cuts and bruises. My body was a patchwork of old scars and new ones, and I knew that each one of those flaws was exactly as Zayne had said earlier—a badge of strength. I wasn’t embarrassed by them. I was proud.
The corners of my lips tipped down as water sluiced between my breasts. The skin in between was pinker than normal, and it almost looked like a...scratch in a straight line. I touched the skin. It was tender, but not exactly painful. Having no idea where that came from, I closed my eyes and lifted my chin, letting the showerhead wash more than just the last twenty-four hours away. Soon, Zayne and I were going to have to talk to the clan and let them know more than that he was okay. We’d have to start working on a plan B just in case Lucifer wasn’t interested in stroking his ego and saving the world. Even with his help, we still needed to discover where Gabriel and Bael were holed up. There was the school and the damn portal underneath that needed to be dealt with. I could call Jada now and not freak her out...too much, and I needed to figure out what in the heck was going on with this Gena person Peanut appeared to be spending more and more time with. I also needed to carve out some time to truly freak out over the fact that Zayne wasn’t going to age, and continue to worry about the big what-if. What if I ended up pregnant? What would that really mean?
Looking down once more, I wiggled my toes as I placed the tips of my fingers against my stomach. No amount of chasing demons and leaping from building to building would ever result in a flat stomach. The junk food probably had a lot to do with that, but if I had to choose between a flat stomach and French fries, I was always going to choose the fries. But if I was pregnant, wouldn’t I have to eat healthier food? I shuddered and then flattened my hands against my lower belly, pressing—
What in the Hell was I doing? I yanked my hands away, making a face. Rolling my eyes, I turned back into the spray of water. What would we do? What could we do? Being pregnant couldn’t change anything. I would still be a Trueborn. I would still need to find Gabriel and whatever came after that.
All of this was just banana pants to me, because I couldn’t even say if I wanted to be a mother, but I knew Zayne—he would make an amazing father to our...
What in the holy handbasket would a child of a Trueborn and a Fallen even be? Would the human part of me even be passed on? Would the genetic flaw I carried that had caused retinitis pigmentosa rear its head? My stomach dipped with the possibilities.
I needed to stop, because now wasn’t the time for any of that, especially things that may never come to fruition.
Hearing the bathroom door snick shut, my pulse skyrocketed into uncharted territories. I kept my eyes forward as I focused on breathing, which was strangely requiring a lot of effort.
The slightest movement behind me threw that hard work with the breathing out the window. Skin brushed against skin, sending a tight, intense shiver down my spine.
A moment passed and I felt the light touch of Zayne’s fingers on my shoulders, sweeping my hair to one side. His lips then pressed against the skin below the nape of my neck, and my toes curled against the floor of the stall.
Unable to keep silent in the highly charged silence, I said, “The de-Cayman-izing didn’t take very long.”
“I only got through the first layer before I grew too impatient,” he said, and I grinned. “It’s going to require another round later. Maybe a third by the looks of it.”
“I’ll do both rounds,” I offered. “Do you want the stuff for your hair?” When he said yes, I grabbed the bottle he used, the one that was both a shampoo and conditioner. If I used that stuff on my hair, it would be as dry as a bird’s nest afterward, and I had no idea how his wasn’t.
A companionable silence descended in the bathroom as we got down to using the shower for what it was designed for. The awkwardness faded even though I was overly aware of every moment his skin touched mine, when he reached around me to place a bottle on the shelf and his arm grazed mine. Or when I washed the shampoo and then the conditioner out of my hair, having to turn around to do so. My hip had brushed against his thighs, and he’d gone as still as a statue again. I’d kept my eyes closed through all of that, and when he reached for the body wash, I wished I had the courage to offer my assistance, but I was too afraid of sounding like a dork, so I kept quiet as the steamy air filled with the minty scent of whatever wash he used and the lusher tones of jasmine that came from the body wash I always used.
When he rinsed off and moved behind me again, I expected him to step out, but he didn’t. My breath caught as his hands glided down the slick, still soapy skin of my arms, over my elbows and then to my wrists. I hadn’t even realized until then that I’d folded my arms over my waist. With impossible gentleness, he eased my arms to my sides.
The edges of his wet hair brushed my cheek as he lowered his head, this time pressing a kiss to the spot between my neck and shoulder, where he’d nipped the skin and left a mark. “Sorry about that,” he offered. “I’ve never done that before.”
“It’s okay,” I told him. “It’s not like it’s noticeable.”
He kissed the spot again. Legs trembling, I opened my eyes as his thumbs moved in slow, idle circles along the insides of my wrists. I watched his hands slide from my wrists to my stomach. His deep golden skin was such a contrast against the more yellow, olive tones of mine. He didn’t press his hands against my belly like I had done earlier. Obviously he wasn’t as much of a mess as I was, but I wondered if he was trying to imagine the same thing I had—a stomach far more swollen than the typical carb bloat I was normally rocking.
A heartbeat later he confirmed as much. “If it turns out that you’re pregnant and if you decide that’s what you want, it’ll be okay,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “But you did say something wrong earlier.”