Dark Slayer

He flashed a half grin at her, shrugging modestly. «In the old days, before I realized Xavier was in my mind, I was good at planning battles. I kept myself sane, exploring his weaknesses, and everyone else's as well. The vampires. Carpathians. Even the Lycans. But one day I realized that whenever I discovered that Xavier had a weakness it suddenly would be found and shored up. I was aiding my own enemy.»

She wanted to comfort him, to just wrap her arms around him and hold him close; instead she leaned down to casually pick up her arrowheads and place them in the small pouch at her side. Razvan wasn't asking for pity; he was stating a fact. But it struck like a blow, that boyish memory that had to hurt like hell. «You took the vampire down fairly easily. And that's what counts.»

«I am grateful you let me practice on him. Thinking it through in one's head is not the same as actually experiencing it. Taking the heart was harder than I expected. I am strong, and yet you make it look easy when it is not. There must be a trick to it that I have not gotten yet. But I will. I do think I had an advantage in that I can barely feel the burn of the vampire's blood anymore.»

To Ivory, it was heartrending that he thought the buildup of scar tissue from his vampire blood-coated chains was an asset. She wanted to weep for him. Instead she forced a casual response. «He was hardly worth messing up my fingernails.» She waved her hand and the ashes blew from the rickety building. «Come here. Let me make certain there is no poison in the lacerations.»

Razvan crossed to her side without hesitation. He caught her hand to examine her fingernails. «You are right. He was not worth messing them up. You have beautiful nails.»

To her consternation he brought her fingertips to his mouth and kissed them. «You forget to warm yourself.» He blew on her fingers and then drew them into the warmth of his mouth.

Her heart nearly stopped and then began to pound frantically. He was lethal at close range. That gentleness that was so much a part of him surrounded her, mesmerizing her as surely as her voice often captivated those within hearing distance. She took a breath and drew him deep into her lungs. She was tall and she could nearly look him square in the eye, but his shoulders were far wider than hers, even though she was wearing her thick fur coat.

She felt safe with him. Which was silly, and disturbing. She had learned never to trust anyone, yet she had let this man into her life. She didn't need him. She didn't want him. But standing so close to him confused her. Hunters had a certain energy surrounding them; everyone did. His was different. His energy was peaceful, absolutely peaceful. Almost serene. Breathing him in gave her strength in a way she'd never known before. He had a quiet acceptance over his fate, and the lack of need to control everything and everyone around him. In his own way, Razvan was enthralling, charming her without even trying.

Ivory swallowed hard and kept her gaze glued to the deep lacerations running up and down his chest. One particularly long scratch led down to his belly and disappeared into the band of his trousers. She laid her palm over one of the worst lacerations and closed her eyes, feeling for the poisonous brew that would signal parasites. Even though, after the first time, she knew the wounds were clean and merely welling blood, she continued to examine each individual injury.

She liked standing so close to him. The sense of serenity was an aphrodisiac in itself. She had heard of the practices in the Far East that had spread throughout the world, and to her this man embodied the very spirit of Zen. He felt calm. Even the simple pleasure he took in learning was without ego or rush.

Ivory leaned forward without conscious thought, her eyes half-closed, and slid her tongue over the long laceration, the healing agents in her saliva immediately removing the sting and closing the wound.

Razvan went still. «What are you doing?» His voice went hoarse.

Ivory noted the change in his breathing. He wasn't nearly as calm now as he'd been a moment ago, and there was something enormously satisfying in that. Her palm slid down to the next scratch and her mouth followed. Every muscle was defined, jumping beneath her touch, his body radiating heat, smelling of the outdoors on a spring night.

His breath left his body in a rush. She felt the ripple in his taut belly as her mouth skimmed down his chest, lower, following the path of the laceration.

«What are you doing?» he repeated.

«Healing you.» Ivory's voice had gone husky-almost liquid-betraying her.