She lifted the bag in her hands. “I got you some things to wear. Your pants were ruined, so I threw them away.”
A blush rushed over her cheeks. And he realized then she was the one who’d stripped him bare. He glanced around again. What in Hades had happened to his weapons?
She looked away from his eyes. “You had some, um, strange tools in your pockets. I put them on the dresser.” His eyes followed the sweep of her hand, and he felt instant relief. Everything was there. Still in their individual holsters. As if she hadn’t even opened them. The only thing that was missing was his blade. And that, he remembered in a rush, he’d stuck under the bed when he’d ripped off his shirt last night, while she’d been gathering supplies.
She peered into the bag. “I wasn’t sure on the size. I couldn’t find a label on your, um, pants.” She set the bag on the foot of the bed and stepped back. “I made some soup, if you’re hungry.”
His eyes narrowed on her face again. What did she want from him? In his experience, humans took what they wanted, thought only of themselves and rarely cared about others. So why, exactly, was she helping him?
She folded her hands in front of her in a hesitant move when he didn’t answer. “I could bring it in here if you’re still too tired or sore to get up.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I will get out of bed.” And get his weapons. Check out the house. See where he was. Get the lay of the land. Make sure she wasn’t planning on slicing and dicing him in his sleep. Just to be safe.
She nodded. “I checked your leg a while ago when you were sleeping. It looks a lot better. I’m still not sure how that’s possible, but…well, I’m glad to see you’re recovering so quickly.”
She seemed sincere, as if she’d honestly been worried about him. He thought back to the panic in her eyes when he’d been half-conscious and dealing with the pain of his wounds. Remembered how together she’d been and how she’d done what needed to be done without freaking out. And though he didn’t want to, he was impressed by her composure.
Then his brain skipped to the visual of those long, slender fingers touching his naked flesh beneath the blanket as she checked his wound. His whole body trembled with a renewed rush of hot arousal.
Which shouldn’t be happening.
She glanced toward the door to her left. “There are towels in the bathroom, if you want to take a shower.” When she looked back, a fresh flush crept up her cheeks. “If you need any help getting up—”
“No,” he said quickly, knowing he didn’t need any help in that department. He was already far too up for his liking. “I can manage.”
She smiled in what he could only describe as complete relief, though color still stained her cheeks.
He nodded once but couldn’t bring himself to thank her.
As if she knew what he was thinking, she hesitated. Looked up until her violet eyes locked on his. And stared at him as though she knew him.
That déjà vu flared again. Just where had he seen her before?
She stepped back so quickly, she hit the doorjamb with her shoulder. Then jumped as if the wood had bitten her in the ass.
And he just couldn’t stop it. Amusement lifted his brow. Had he thought this woman was a threat? She was no more dangerous than an ant.
“Okay,” she managed. “I’ll, uh, be in the other room if you need me.” She turned and fled.
Alone, Theron’s curiosity faded as he stared at the open door. Her exit had not only robbed him of her unusual company but also of his arousal.
Confused as to what was happening to his body and why, he decided maybe he wasn’t as well as he’d first thought. He pulled the covers back and looked down at his injured leg. The stitches were barely visible, and the wound was no longer red or inflamed. In another day or so it would be nothing but another scar to add to his collection. Judging from the other marks on his body, they’d healed equally well.
Unfortunately, though, the strange sensations buzzing around in his chest and head warned him he wasn’t back to normal, and given that, it wouldn’t be wise to try to open the portal and send himself back to Argolea just yet. In his weakened state, he’d be a prime target for the daemons, and he didn’t even know if he had enough power to get home once he made the connection.
No, he decided. A better idea would be to stay here tonight. To eat the food this unusual but harmless human had made for him. To relax, to regain some of his strength so that tomorrow—maybe—he could head home.
As he tossed his sore legs over the side of the bed and rolled to his feet, his jaw tightened at the stab of pain in his thigh. He reached out to support his weight on the footboard and bit back a groan. Oh, yeah, definitely not well enough to try to make it home. Even the strongest of the Argonauts had limits, not that he was about to admit that to any of his kinsmen.
He ground his teeth to keep from whimpering like a little gynaíka as he shuffled to the bathroom. Inside he flipped on the light and started the shower, then moaned in relief as the hot water cascaded over his aching body and washed away the last sting from his cuts and bruises.
And though he didn’t mean to, as his eyes slid closed, he couldn’t help but think of the woman in the kitchen and imagine her fingers and lips running down his damp skin, instead of water.
Good gods. A woman? He was definitely more injured than he’d thought. His lusting after a human was clear proof he wasn’t right in the head. It didn’t matter how sexy she was or what her reasons were for helping him. She was human, and for him that meant off-limits. Forever.
CHAPTER FIVE
“What do I smell?”
The spoon in Casey’s hand clattered to the stovetop, bounced off the surface and hit the tile floor at her feet. Soup splashed onto her sweater and jeans, and she hissed in a breath.
“Skata,” Theron said, moving toward her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Casey reached for the hand towel hooked over the oven-door handle. She swiped at the mess on her stomach and down her thighs.
Smooth, Case. Real smooth.
“I did not mean to startle you.”
Her hand paused at the sound of that sexy accent, then she gave herself a mental shake and continued wiping her clothes. The man moved like a silent shadow, even injured as he was. She was sure she’d only heard the shower turn off moments ago.
“You didn’t,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I was thinking about something else.”
Yeah, right.
He bent at her feet to retrieve the spoon. She looked down and followed him with her eyes as he pushed to stand, then wished she hadn’t.
He towered over her. Nearly six and a half feet and at least two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. His hair was damp from his shower, brushed back from his face and just long enough to curl at his collar in a way that begged her to run her fingers through the damp mass. The long-sleeved black T-shirt she’d bought for him was snug against his muscled chest and arms, the faded Levi’s riding low on his lean hips. Beneath the cuffs of his jeans, his bare feet peeked out, looking ridiculously masculine against her pale pink tile floor.
She swallowed a groan as she flashed on what that body looked like stark naked. The long roped muscles, chiseled angles, hollows and planes that she could now envision way too well. The scars across his chest lived in her mind now, along with that arrow of dark hair that pulled her attention down until just the memory made her blush.
Injured, she’d found him wildly attractive, but now, semihealed and well rested, he was more than that. He was danger on a stick, dangled out in front of her like candy for a child. Every woman’s sex fantasy come true. And for some insane reason he was standing in her kitchen, watching her with wary eyes.