“Exactly.” Her whoosh of the word coincides with her backwards flop onto the room’s large bed. “Regrettably and unfortunately,” she adds, “but…exactly.”
That repetition falls out of her with more heavy breath—a sound I also recognize well. The rush of an exhausted whisper is likely known to every warrior throughout history. I am reassured by that, at least, just as I smile while predicting what will spill from her next. The full breaths that predict she is approaching deep sleep.
Quietly, I close the two steps to the bed. Assuredly, the woman’s eyes are solidly shut. Her lashes are thick umber sweeps against the cream and ginger dapples of her cheeks. I’m halfway toward touching her there, so tempted to trace those dots like she’s my human constellation…
But all too quickly remember what happened the last time I reached for heaven.
With the drive of a dagger, it was ripped from me. She was gone.
She is still gone.
It is my self-imposed dictate, over and over in my mind, while I lift the bed’s top cover and gently wrap it around the woman who is here with me.
Raegan Tavish, who chose to run for me after I ran from her.
Raegan Tavish, who has literally worn herself out to keep me safe in this danger-strewn new world.
Raegan Tavish, who now shivers before jerking the blanket away from me. Who proves that her keen intelligence is working even in its subconscious state.
Oui, little one. Stay away. I am clearly not the Duke De Leon. I am the Lord of Chaos.
But I promise you—I promise—once I know you are safe with your friends again, you will never have to deal with my insanity again.
I do not leave her side until watching her breathing even out. Once I am certain she is warm and comfortable, I step over to the radiator device that she hurriedly activated once we arrived in the room.
“Incroyable,” I rasp, fanning my hands in front of the steel grill that gives off the heat of a small campfire.
Once the chill has seeped from my own limbs, I strip off my shirt and drape it across the back of a nearby chair to dry out a little more. For a long moment, I gape at the garment—before deciding that who or whatever Spiderman is, the eighteenth century will surely seem like an emptier place without him.
But I will learn to live in a world without the web tosser just as I will abide in a world without Magique.
And…without Raegan.
The woman who entrances me all over again, even from the couch onto which I flop across the small room. Who already has me wishing to turn into a pillow as she rolls over and wraps her arms around one. Who has me timing my breaths to the gentle air flowing in and out of her soft form until I am ruthlessly engulfed by slumber, as well.
Then just as savagely ripped from it.
A shriek explodes across the room. As I jolt into consciousness, it peters into an agonized wince. I gain my feet as another scream tears the air.
“Mag—Raegan.”
I sit on the bed next to her, already observing how deeply her nightmare has ensnared her. A mere shake of her shoulder will be useless against her subconscious wraiths. As she cries out again, I sprawl all the way next to her.
“Raegan. Wake up, chérie. ’Tis but an awful dream.”
I have to repeat it several times, tucking her face close to my chest, before the rumbles of my voice penetrate her in that other world. Before fully crossing the bridge back, she flails at me. “Nooo!”
“Oof.” It takes the place of my favorite profanity, even as she lands a whack to the middle of my injured cheek. Swearing about the sensitivity of this wound, despite the noble intentions that led to it, does not feel like the correct call right now.
But nor does letting her go.
Even as she sighs into the middle of my chest and softens against the middle of my body. The part of me that changes as well—toward the opposite end of that tactile spectrum.
Mon dieu. This woman’s breathtaking body…
“Huh? Oh, no. Oh my God. Bastien?”
And her voice, so effervescent even when half-awake…
“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
And her benevolence, even when there is no reason for her to bestow it…
I chuckle. And before I can control myself, I am turning my face and kissing her sweet fingertips. “Nothing I have not deserved, n’est-ce pas?”
Her lips twist. Her gaze is dark sage, like a forest just minutes before dawn. The thought makes me wonder about the actual current time in our day. Deep shadows shroud our little room. I can only see her because of the small light from the adjoining kitchenette.
“Deserved or not, that’s going to be a hell of a shiner, buddy.”
I arch a brow, indicating toward the rain-spattered window. A low thunder roll portends of more to come. “I doubt that shining will be a viable task anytime soon, ma magnifique.”
Her lips perk but her eyes remain solemn. “And now you’re being too nice. Magnificent isn’t the word I’d go for in the Raegan media kit right now.”
“Bah.” I grunt softly. “I have never been much for mead. Should we just assume you are a sweet wine instead?”
And this is the comment that banishes her doldrums. I struggle not to let my confusion take over my scowl as her bursting giggle lights up the room much better than any daylight. “As you wish, Monsieur le Duke. But if I had my real preference, we’d be doing whiskey flights and stuffed potatoes somewhere in the Village.”
Every word of her pronouncement makes sense on its own. Together, they baffle me all over again. Still, I reply, “I will never walk away from good whiskey.”
“Then it’s settled. When we can roam freely again, I’m parking your fine ass at the Flatiron Room and treating you to—” She stops in the middle of enthusiastically patting my chest. “Oh, my. Speaking of your oh-so-fine bod, my lord…”
“Here at your service, my lady.”
I grin in time to her cute smirk. Excellent move, in time to veil my bittersweet tinge. I never had the chance to address Magique with those words. Though I am still really not, it feels close enough to feel her smile in my soul, inspiring the words that continue on my lips.
“That applies to all of my body parts, Raegan. Including everything up here.”
Her mouth purses with mirth as she watches me tug at an ear. “And exactly why do you suggest that, mister?”
I do not mirror the blitheness. “Do you want to talk about it?” I move my fingers from my ear to her forehead. “The nightmare?”
She closes her eyes and keeps them shut for a long moment and then pushes her face back into my chest. “Damn. How come you still smell so good?”
I steel my composure, fighting the effects of her moving lips and silken breaths on my skin. Directly beneath her mouth, my heartbeat surges anew…and pumps fresh blood to other body parts. Anatomy I should not be acknowledging at the moment…
“You are evading the subject.” I direct the growl at my cock as equally as her. My body ignores me. Thankfully, she does not.
“Because there is no subject.” Though she mumbles it, there is purpose to her volume. “Mack Deluise doesn’t get that honor anymore.”
“Deluise,” I echo but swiftly stamp it with a snarl. “The one who tried to stab you in the heart.”