If not for the teshuva’s etheric musculature and his own substantial annoyance, he might’ve made two trips. Nim offered once to help, but backed off with a single look from him.
She wasn’t going to redeem herself so easily.
When they got to the warehouse, she reached across the front seat of the cab with money in her fist. He growled under his breath, and she said, “I brought my purse this time.”
She was quick to take half the bags through the front door. In the quiet lobby, though, she paused. Without the weight of the dreads, her eyes looked larger. And, if he wasn’t lying to himself, more vulnerable.
He paused too, and they stared at each other.
“You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?” she murmured. “I thought, in your day, the man made all the moves.”
“In my day, we didn’t sleep together unless we were married.”
She chewed at her lower lip until the flesh burned dusky red. “This is kind of like that. I’m bound to you. Till death do us part, which could be a really long time. We’re converting sinners together. By sending them to hell, but I think that counts. And, yeah, I sleep with you. The least you could do is tell me if I’m sharing your room.”
“Since you asked so nicely.” He started forward again.
As they headed for his room, he wondered at their foolish dance, with him advancing and her retreating, only coming together in the demon realm and in bed—hell and heaven. Was there a middle ground they could share?
After they dropped off her bags, he said, “Come with me. Bring Mobi.”
“Kicking us out already?”
He led her to the warehouse top floor and clicked on the lights. Half the bare bulbs came on over the haphazard rows of antiques and junk. The smell of dust and horsehair stuffing thickened the air. The architectural salvage business had been a useful front for an organization that had been around for centuries and had an unfortunate habit of breaking things in the course of their missions.
Nim sneezed. “Is that a real sarcophagus?”
“Solid marble. But I figure Mobi wants a window.” He pointed to the far end of the row, just within reach of the functioning lightbulbs. “Would that fit him?”
The curio cabinet had been intricately carved, bottom to top, with sea stars, waving kelp, leaping swordfish, and, finally—as if the woodworker had grown more enthusiastic with his work—bare-breasted mermaids.
Nim trailed her hands over the teak. “Where did this come from?”
“An insane asylum for whittlers? Captain’s quarters on a ship bound for madness, maybe.”
“Mobi will love it.” Then she drew back. “Maybe it’s too valuable to toss dead rats in.”
“So it turns to sawdust up here? I’ll hold Mobi. You grab a hand truck.”
The old cabinet was solid and awkward. Even with her demon’s help, she was sweaty and smudged by the time she wrestled it onto the wheels. “Do you think this goes with the décor in your room?”
“No.”
She looked at him uncertainly, but followed him to his—their—room, lugging the cabinet. “Jonah, I think you should know. I’ve never been in a relationship that worked out.”
Like which one? he wondered. The one with the sly, older rapist? The nightly one with her customers? He held the door open for her. “I’ve never been in one that didn’t.”
He showered while she fussed with Mobi. By the time he’d dried and dressed, she’d cleaned the cabinet, oiled the hinges with his prosthetics lubricant, and found a lamp to position over one end and a water bowl wedged with a pile of decorative pebbles for the other. Mobi curled through an African ceremonial mask she must have filched somewhere along her journeys.
They were making it their home. His mate, in his space. With her underthings spilling out of the bags onto his floor. Satisfaction surged through his veins, as elemental as the wood and stone.
Elemental and terrifying.
He shied away from the knowledge it could all end tomorrow. Or in eighty years. Would forever be enough? Could he be enough?
Nim bustled up beside him. “What do you think?”
He straightened, tucking his scarred stump behind him. “I left you a little bit of hot water.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Are you saying I’m filthy?”
He touched the smudge of attic dust across her forehead. “You need a shower before you’ll even qualify as filthy.”
She lowered her lashes. “And once we’re both fresh and pure again?”
“Then I have another surprise for you.”
She smiled, slow and wide. “I’ll just be a minute.”
When she emerged, she was naked. Which required another minute, while he indulged in a good, long stare.
The bruises had faded to shadows under her skin. Her butchered hair . . . well, that would take longer to recover. The drastically shortened dreads stuck out in all directions, already fraying into delicate strands, utterly at odds with her hard-set jaw.
She propped her hand on her hip. “You tricked me into asking before if I should stay. You’re gonna have to ask this time. Just so I know.”
“Know what?” He shook his head. “No, don’t distract me again. Get dressed.” He tossed her a shirt from her bag. His fingers seemed hypersensitized to the rough caress of the lace around the neckline. Well, of course all the clothes she’d bring would drive him mad. “I think you’ll like this.”
He took her down to the weapons room.
She gazed around at the walls of bladed and bashing paraphernalia of paranormal impairment. “Jonah, you have a fucked-up idea of what constitutes foreplay.”
He headed toward the closest display. “With the right weapon, you won’t be starting anything; you’ll be ending it.”
“Oh, that is sexy,” she said flatly.
He sized her up in a scathing toe-to-clipped-hair sweep. “Not everything is about that.”
“More’s the pity.”
“If you’d had a blade, you could have defended yourself.”
“I thought that’s why I have you.”
With some exasperation, his voice rose. “Remember how you sneaked out in the night to fight on your own? Now you can keep us all at arm’s length. No touching.”
She scowled. “You never listened.”
“I heard you. I just didn’t obey. And I’m sorry for that.”
She blanched and turned away from him. “Well, I’m sorry it was so awful for you.”
In one long step, he confronted her. “You know that’s not what I meant. No more twisting my words.”
She lifted her chin. “Then say what you mean.”
“I don’t want you to need me,” he said slowly, feeling his way. He lifted his hand to touch her cheek, and the flyaway strands of her hair tickled his knuckles. “I want you to want me.”
“Did you miss the part where I tried to get you into bed?”
He shook his head. “I want more than that.”
“You said you didn’t have any more to give.”
His lips quirked. “That’s the Naughty Nymphette; always haggling.” When she didn’t return the smile, he sighed. “I have no doubt many a man spent his entire rent check on a night of watching you. Why shouldn’t I mortgage what’s left of my soul?”
“And your earnest money is a shiny little knife.”
Her lack of enthusiasm made him shift from one foot to the other. “If you see one you like.” He heard his voice rising toward a question, and restrained a wince.
Her gaze shuttled from him to the wall and back again. “What would you recommend?”
Relief flooded him. “Perhaps, in antiquity, the female talyan had preferred weaponry. There’s no hint in league archives. Jilly and Sera both chose smaller weapons because they have Liam and Archer watching their backs.”