Chapter 10
Phoebe twisted the shower tap on hard, determined to let the teeming water ease her tension. It had come close with Agrat before in the kitchen. She wanted him with an intensity that left her edgy with need. She ran the soap over her nipples and they peaked at her touch. When she slipped her fingers between her legs, her inner lips were swollen with a desireso powerful she wanted to satisfy herself. An image of the prince with his swarthy face, intense expression and sensuous, kissable mouth came to mind. Get real, Phoebe. This was not a man she was falling for. This was a demon on a mission to kill an angel because of an ancient curse. No matter that, according to Agrat, Galaden was fallen; Phoebe believed in God, angels and an afterlife, and she still couldn't get her head around the concept that angels could be evil. There was no proof that Galaden was evil or that he wanted to kill her, and yet, something wasn't right about the situation. Phoebe put the soap in the soap holder and rinsed off thinking about Agrat.
The warrior's glowing eyes, his hulking, muscle-bound body and the way he threw a fireball told her killing wasn't new to him. He was a master of it. This was not someone she should fall for. So why was she?
A thump followed by a crash from the bedroom had her switching off the water and grabbing a towel. Frantically, she dried herself, stepped out of the shower stall and wrapped the towel around herself, tucking it under her arm. She glanced around the bathroom looking for something to defend herself with. Her clothes were on the bed, but the wrist guard was on the bathroom cabinet, within reach. Grabbing it, she pulled it over her wrist and flung her forearm in the downward motion as Agrat had shown her. The dagger slid into her hand. Even though she was armed, she was semi-naked, which did nothing for her confidence.
A deep groan met her ears.
Phoebe flung open the bathroom door to see Agrat lying wounded on the bed, his bloodied forearm resting on his chest.
His eyes opened and his gaze drank her in. Instead of the hard lines of anger his face usually carried, he managed a small smile, though his face seemed drawn with pain.
"You're hurt," she said.
"You're naked."
"I'm wearing a towel."
"Come closer and you won't be."
"I don't know how you can joke with a wound like that." Bone protruded above the wrist and raw flesh surrounded it. The whole of his forearm was discolored and swollen. Phoebe snatched up her underwear and pulled on her bra and panties.
"I'll heal fast. The energy is stronger here than in the city because I've called on my ancestors to guard this place. In an hour my arm will be whole again."
"It looks like you almost lost your hand." She bit her thumbnail with concern, wondering how he could bear it. Already, her stomach was churning. The pain must be hideous.
"Galaden's sword nearly took it clean off. Luckily he didn't. It takes days to grow back a limb."
Phoebe shuddered at the thought. "Did you kill him?"
"Wounded him, but he gave fair return. It will slow him down. The moment I am healed I will finish him. I cannot let him have you." There was real vulnerability in his eyes as he stared at her.
No one had ever looked at her like he did. Sure, she'd had boyfriends, but she'd always held back, putting her work first. Something deep inside her stirred, a primeval need to respond. She was kidding herself when she'd dismissed this relationship as sexual attraction.
"And Rachael?"
"I found her but Galaden had taken much of her life-force. She couldn't take sustenance. Without it, she will die. I called for a healing chariot."
