Night's Honor

NINETEEN

The flashing lights grew closer, and people ran toward them. Reaching to her waist and sliding her hand around the butt of her Glock, she watched them sharply, looking for any sign they weren’t who they appeared to be.

Xavier had stopped feeding. Afraid he hadn’t taken in enough nourishment, she gripped him tighter. His body grew taut and he shuddered. The convulsions had started.

“Ma’am?” A uniformed policewoman approached them cautiously. “Ma’am, can you hear me? I’m here to help you.” She raised her voice. “These two are alive! Get paramedics over here!”

More people ran over, two of them wielding a stretcher, and a paramedic went to his knees beside them.

Taking her hand away from her gun, Tess said, “This is Xavier del Torro. Do you know who that is?”

The paramedic’s quick, intelligent gaze flashed up to hers. “Yes.”

“He’s been poisoned, and he’s dying.” The force of what she felt made the words snap out like a whip. “He has to have fresh blood now. A lot of it.”

The man shouted, “I need more help here. Stat.”

Others came running, and several people converged on them as the two paramedics pulled Xavier out of her arms and turned him on his back.

She stroked back his hair as she watched his face for any sign of consciousness. He had started bleeding from the nose now, as well as his eyes.

Don’t die. Please don’t die.

One of paramedics rolled up his sleeve and tried to offer blood to Xavier, but he was unresponsive. “He’s not taking it,” he said. “We need to do a direct transfusion.”

His partner pulled out phlebotomist equipment, tore open packages and started a direct transfusion from the paramedic to Xavier, linking them by needles inserted into their forearms. The procedure would have been impossible if Xavier had still been human.

Other people were talking. The words rolled over her.

“. . . His wrists are healing. We have to reopen the cuts.”

“We don’t have time to get him to a hospital—let’s get him off the ground. Put him on the stretcher. . . . Who else will donate blood?”

She moved with them as they lifted Xavier onto the stretcher and positioned him on his side so that one limp arm hung to the ground. One paramedic crouched to reopen the wound in that arm, using gravity to help drain the poisoned blood, while the other set up a new donor, the policewoman who had found them originally.

One of them asked, “How much poison did he take?”

She shook her head, her voice clogged from the tears that kept leaking out of her eyes. “I don’t know. A lot.”

Time blurred, and one donor replaced another. Movement happened around the periphery of her awareness, as police officials investigated the scene. One approached her to say, “We need to take your statement about what happened.”

“Later,” she said. She knelt at Xavier’s head, still stroking his hair, in case some part of him was aware of her presence. He could disappear at any moment, just collapse into dust. The possibility was unimaginable—that he could be there in one moment, and completely gone in the next.

“Ma’am, there’s nothing you can do for him right now. He’s getting the best care available. If you would just come with me to answer some questions.”

While the clueless policeman didn’t necessarily sound unkind, she barely managed to keep from drawing the Glock and shooting him.

Oh, life had certainly changed, now that she had a gun and knew how to use it.

Lifting her head to meet his gaze, she said in a soft voice, “Get out of my face.”

Something in her expression made him pull back sharply. “You’re understandably upset. I’ll check with you again in a bit.”

Forgetting about him as soon as he stepped out of her radar, she asked one of the paramedics, “How do we know how he’s doing?”

“I’ve never personally handled a brodifacoum poisoning before, but there’s a survivability factor that’s called magic hour.” The paramedic sounded both brisk and sympathetic. “If he makes it through a full hour, he’ll survive.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “He wouldn’t have made it this far without your quick action.”

Wiping her face on her shoulder, she nodded. “How much time has gone by?”

“Twenty-one minutes.”

It felt like a lifetime already.

Only thirty-nine more minutes of hell to go.

Raoul and Julian arrived, bringing with them an influx of new, sharp-eyed armed Vampyres that washed through the alley like a wave. Raoul ran to the stretcher, and the look on his face brought fresh tears to her eyes.

After taking in Xavier’s curled up form, Raoul gripped her shoulder as he took in her appearance. “You look like you bathed in blood. Are you hurt?”

Blinking hard, she said, “No.”

Have you said anything to anyone about what happened? he asked telepathically.

She shook her head.

Good job.

I didn’t do it on purpose. I’ve been busy. She touched Xavier’s temple.

Raoul’s gaze fell to the movement and widened. Before he could say anything, Julian joined them. The rough angles of the Nightkind King’s face were cut with fury.

Tell me what happened, Julian commanded.

She couldn’t put Julian off like she had the policeman. Reluctantly, she focused on him. It was Justine. Diego died before he could tell me much, but from what he said, Justine bribed him to get Xavier to come into the city. He thought. . . . She swallowed. Even though she’d had nothing to do with the conspiracy, she found it surprisingly hard to say the next words while looking directly at Julian. Diego said he had thought Justine was going to try a coup in Evenfall. Instead, she went after Xavier. He was her target.

The Nightkind King’s gaze bored into hers. How did you survive?

She shook her head. Sheer dumb luck? I shot a few of them, but Xavier killed almost everyone who attacked us. If any of them lived, they only did so because they ran away. They clearly meant to kill all of us—they almost hit the SUV with a rocket launcher.

That wasn’t sheer dumb luck, Julian told her. He saved your life. He could have left you and Diego behind at any moment. Instead, he stayed to fight. They knew he would, and that’s how they got him. If it had worked, none of you would have been around to tell what had happened.

She hadn’t had time to absorb everything, but as soon as he said it, she knew it was true. Overcome, she glanced down at Xavier’s still face.

She murmured, I had no idea I could come to care for him so much.

She hadn’t meant to say it. She certainly hadn’t meant to confess that to the Nightkind King, of all people.

He’s the best man I know, Julian said. I wouldn’t have anybody else in his position, or trust them to make the kinds of decisions he makes every day. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never once lost his moral compass. A shadow crossed his rough face. Not like so many of the rest of us have, from time to time.

Surprised by Julian’s candor, Tess stared up at him. He genuinely, deeply cared for Xavier, and it showed on his tense, worried face. From across the alley, someone called out to him, and he strode away.

“Just a few more minutes to go,” said the paramedic. “I need a new donor. Don’t tell me we’ve already used everybody.”

“I’m new.” Raoul held out his arm. “Use me.”

Xavier stirred underneath her hands and whispered, “Querida.”

She had never felt gladness as such an extreme emotion. It brought her to her knees. Laying her head on the stretcher beside his, facing him, she whispered, “I’m here.”

He appeared dazed, and his normally sharp, clear gaze looked clouded. “You’re upside down.”

“I know.” Glancing up, she caught Raoul’s astonished expression. “Look, Raoul’s here.”

Xavier tried to turn his head to look up at Raoul, who bent over him and put a hand at the back of his head. His voice as gentle as his expression, Raoul asked, “Did you just call her querida?”

“We were going to tell you when we got back,” Xavier said. He groped for Tess’s hand, and she took it. “Tess isn’t one of my attendants any longer.” After a pause, he added with a thoughtful kind of surprise, “I think we might be dating.”

“Time.” The paramedic’s voice filled with triumph. “We made it.”

They’d hit magic hour.

Julian came back over to the stretcher to check on Xavier. When he saw that Xavier’s eyes were open, his savage expression lightened considerably. Squatting by the stretcher, he brought his face down to the same level as Xavier’s.

“You scared me there for a while,” Julian said.

Xavier stiffened as another spasm of pain hit. “It wasn’t my intention.”

“I’m not ready to live in a world without you in it,” Julian told him in a quiet voice. He held out his hand, and Xavier clasped it.

“You won’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

Julian said in his head, I have news that is somewhat ironic. Are you up to hearing it?

Xavier couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he closed them. Tell me.

Gavin got the edited recording to me. A few hours earlier, I took it to Justine and backed her off, just as we’d planned. She left Evenfall around when you did, right after sunset. If I’d held off confronting her until tomorrow, she might still be in residence.

Xavier didn’t buy it. As soon as Justine received word of the botched assassination attempt, she would have slipped out of Evenfall on some pretext or other. He gritted his teeth as the remnants of the poison knotted his muscles.

He promised, Soon as I’m on my feet, I’ll go after her.

No, you won’t, Julian growled. His grip tightened on Xavier’s. Not this time. I’ve sent you on the hunt for me countless times over the years, but Justine is my issue to handle. No one attacks my progeny and lives.

As Julian stood, Xavier opened his eyes. Looking up at his sire and king, he said, Good hunting.

Julian touched his shoulder. Get better. And watch your back.

Always.

After ten more minutes, the paramedic announced Xavier was stable enough to be moved. Pain still wracked his body, but he refused to go to the hospital. Now that he had survived past the magic hour, there was nothing the hospital could do for him, anyway, except to offer him fresh blood, and he could get that need met in the comfort of his own home.

They transported him to his town house in the ambulance. He refused to let go of Tess’s hand, so she rode with him. She looked horrific. Blood soaked her everywhere, and her face was tight and pale with exhaustion and stress, her eyes lined with dark circles.

He had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful.

He must have closed his eyes and dozed, because the next thing he knew, the medics were pulling the stretcher from the ambulance. Tess stayed by his side as they took him inside and down the main stairway to the master suite belowground.

He wasn’t tracking what happened very well, because Raoul wasn’t present—but then suddenly he was.

“He needs to take it easy for a few weeks,” one of the medics told them. He met Xavier’s eyes. “You survived, but that doesn’t mean the poison is gone. It’s going to take several days for it to fully flush out of your system. The best thing you can do is force liquids.”

“Understood,” Xavier said.

Raoul slid an arm under his shoulders and eased him off the stretcher. When he made as if to help Xavier to his king-sized bed, Xavier resisted.

“No. Take me to the bathroom.”

“Xavier, it doesn’t matter right now if you’re clean or not.”

“It matters to me, damn it.” He looked for Tess, who hovered nearby anxiously. “Help me into the shower?”

She came forward quickly and slipped an arm around his waist. “Of course.”

He limped with her into the bathroom.

He liked his comforts, and his bathroom reflected that. It was spacious, with a walk-in shower and a large sunken tub with Jacuzzi jet heads. After a quick glance around, Tess said, “I don’t think we should try the shower.”

He didn’t disagree. Even with her support, he was shaky on his feet, and the muscle cramps kept hitting him unexpectedly.

She helped him into the tub, and he stripped off his soiled, blood-soaked clothing while she turned on the water, checked the flow and adjusted the faucets. “Climb in,” he said. “You too.”

He thought she might argue, but she didn’t. She stripped off her filthy clothes, dropped them into the pile with his and climbed into the tub. For a while, they just soaked, and he grew more comfortable as the warm water eased his muscle cramps.

He stroked her back, following the delicate ripple of her spine. God, he loved her body, her sleek skin, those gorgeous legs, the soft swell of her pink-tipped breasts. He loved the cranky, vulnerable look in her eyes.

Scooping up a handful of warm water, he wiped at her streaked face. “You saved my life,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

Her face moved. She took hold of his forearms and checked the wounds at his wrists. They had already closed over, but the marks where she had cut him were still long, red and angry-looking. Tracing one of them with a forefinger, she said, “You saved my life too.”

“We saved each other.” With a deep sense of relief and fulfillment, he pulled her into his arms. She hugged him back tightly, and they rested together.

He disconnected again, and only woke up when she let out the tub of rusty-looking water and ran more. Matter-of-factly, she poured shampoo into one hand and worked it through his hair. As her slender fingers massaged his scalp, he let out a low sound of pleasure and went boneless.

Suds slipped down his chest and shoulders, and spread over the water’s surface.

Scooping up fragrant handfuls, he washed her all over, relishing the feel of her silken wet skin and slippery body. Her breasts filled his hands beautifully. Obsessed with touching her, he massaged them and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, watching the plump, succulent peaks of flesh pebble under his touch. She stopped washing his hair and held his hands against her, her eyelids drifting closed as she let him play with her.

The arousal was there—it couldn’t help but be there. She was too vital, too sexy, and he wanted her too much. His hard cock brushed against the side of her thigh. But he ignored it. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers.

Her eyes opened. When she saw the look on his face, she asked softly, “What is it?”

He looked at her soberly. “Did Diego say anything to you before he died?”

Her mouth tightened. “Yes. He was working with Justine. He said he thought she wanted you to come into the city so she could try something in Evenfall. He said he wouldn’t have done it, if he’d known we were going to be attacked, and he said he was sorry.”

His eyes grew damp.

Her tired expression changed drastically, and she straddled him to wrap her arms around his neck, embracing with such fierceness, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held on.

He pressed his face against her. “I’d known for a while he wasn’t happy. I should have done something sooner. I should have talked to him.”

“Don’t you dare try to make what happened your fault,” she whispered.

“But it is partly my fault, querida,” he said. “I should have seen this coming.”

“No. I don’t buy it.” She shook her head and told him in a harsh voice, “Lots of people get restless, and they might not be entirely satisfied with their lives, but that doesn’t mean they go out and betray someone, or put somebody in danger. They cope with what’s in their lives. That’s what adults do. Diego knew Justine was dangerous, but he made a deal with her anyway. He had perfect health, and he was strong and smart. He could have gone anywhere or done anything else, or he could have just hung out and enjoyed his easy job and the sunshine. But instead of counting up all the good things he had going for him, he was greedy, lazy and selfish.”

As she fell silent, he said against her skin, “I guess you have strong feelings about it.”

“I guess I do,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, but if he wasn’t already dead, I’d probably shoot him myself.”

He didn’t want to smile, but he did anyway. She was bloodthirsty, his Tess, and he discovered he liked that very much.

“Thank you,” he said, more seriously. “Your words mean more than I can say. I’ll have to think about this. It may take me a while to put what happened to rest.”

“That’s because you like to think about things.” She scowled. “Me, I like numbers. They’re so much easier to understand than people.”

She looked so adorable he had to kiss her. When he did, her lips felt so amazing, he had to deepen the kiss. He slanted his mouth over hers, again and again, eating at her like a starving man who had been brought to a banquet.

Throughout every moment of the fight, he had known where Tess was. No matter how far away he had gone—yards away, to either end of the alley—he had obsessively tracked every movement she had made.

He had known when she had stepped out of the SUV and crouched between the limited shelter of the two open doors. He had tracked every time she had brought up her rifle and shot, and he had been very aware of the moment she chose to slip around the rear passenger door to Diego, because that had left her exposed to an attack from behind the SUV.

He had changed his fighting strategy accordingly, shifting his attention to the attackers coming up from the rear, because none of those bastards were going to get near her. Not while he was around to have anything to say about it.

And he had known when Diego had gotten shot. Even through the firefight and other sounds of battle, because of his extraordinary hearing—and because of the bond that existed between patron and attendant—he had been all too aware of Diego’s struggle for breath in those last few moments of his life.

Maybe he could have gotten back to the SUV in time to save Diego. A strong influx of Vampyre blood might have stopped the internal bleeding. Maybe they could have held back their attackers through firepower alone.

It had been a judgment call. Decisions in fighting were always judgment calls.

But in the space of a few fleeting moments, he had decided against it. He had traded the possibility of saving Diego’s life for the certainty of saving Tess.

And if he had to do it all over, he would do it again. In the deepest privacy of his soul, down at the bottom of a well where no one else could hear him, the part of him that had weighed life and death decisions over the last several hundred years took her life and weighed it against all else.

Life became simple from that point on, because Tess had to live. No matter who else died, or how much damage he had to inflict on the world around him—Tess had to live.

“Come on,” she whispered against his mouth. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“And you,” he murmured. He sank one hand into her damp hair and tightened it into a fist. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

She didn’t protest his possessive hold. Instead she smiled. “I’m good with that.”

Leaving the tub, she went to the closet and pulled out a handful of towels. She hovered near his elbow as he climbed out, but he steadied himself against the nearby sink and waved her away.

Toweling dry, he left his hair damp, and when she came to him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning on her for support again as they went into the bedroom. She pulled back the covers, and gratefully, he sank down onto the mattress. She joined him, and, putting his arms around her, he pulled her damp body next to his.

Their legs entwined, and the sensation of her naked body against his was as sacred as anything he had ever experienced.

Running his fingers along the wings of her collarbones, he said, “You haven’t told me how you are doing.”

“I’m fine. I’m tired.” She shook her head, the silky damp tips of her hair clinging to her skin. “I’m not fine—I’m not fine at all. Jesus Christ, Xavier, I went an entire hellish hour waiting for you to disappear and turn into dust. I held your head between my hands, and all I could think of was how you might vanish into thin air at any moment. I think I’m still screaming inside my head.”

As her face twisted, he pulled her onto him and held her tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s okay now. It’s going to be okay.”

“I know that,” she snapped, as the tears spilled down her face. “I don’t have to be rational, or in control right now.”

“Of course you don’t.” He stroked her hair, her shoulders, the beautiful hourglass curve of her back.

She mashed her mouth against his, but her emotional distress was too apparent for him to smile at the lack of finesse. Instead, he made a low, soothing sound at the back of his throat and cradled her.

“I didn’t know you two months ago. When I first met you at the Vampyre’s Ball, all I could think of was how easy it would be for you to rape me and drain me of my blood.”

He pressed his lips against the delicate, vital pulse at her neck. “Not easy,” he murmured. “Impossible.”

“The first time I walked into your study, I was terrified.” Her tear-starred eyes were filled with incredulity. “Now I can’t imagine what I would do without you somehow in my life.”

Possessiveness stirred. Gripping her by the hips, he pressed his erection against her. “I am not somehow in your life,” he growled. “I am very much more than somehow in your life. You are in my bed. You have found your way into my heart, and I am in yours. Admit it.”

Her gaze widened, and inexplicably, she calmed down. She muttered, “I guess you never know when the medieval Spanish nobleman might surface.”

“He is always here,” Xavier told her. “And he has fallen in love with you.” He whispered, barely audible against her skin. “He’s waiting for you to join him.”

Her response was immediate, and passionate. “I am. I have. I’m here too.”

That was all he needed to hear. He pulled her down and took her mouth. Urgency drove him. He needed to go deep inside of her, and he speared her with his tongue. A raw moan broke out of her. It sounded so needy and shaken the instinct to cover her vulnerability from the world took precedence over everything else.

He rolled with her until he had her pinned underneath him, and she readily parted her legs to cradle him with her strong, sleek thighs.

Then something else occurred to him. He lifted his head and said with surprise, “I bit you.”

She blinked, awareness showing through the arousal that flushed her face. One corner of her mouth lifted in a remarkably shy smile. “Yeah, you did.”

Stroking her torso from breast to hip, he checked her neck. Aided by the properties in his bite, the small wounds had already healed. He asked, “How do you feel about it?”

She hesitated, thinking, as she turned her head to press her lips against his bicep. “It can be like a drug, can’t it?”

“Yes,” he said, turning guarded. “It can be. Some grow addicted to it.”

Her gaze focused on him. “I would never let anyone else do such a thing to me,” she said. Her voice had turned crisp and decisive. “I would never let them take blood from me like that, or let myself feel that kind of—dangerously meaningless euphoria. I would never give them that kind of power over me.”

His jaw tightened. He couldn’t fault her in the slightest for saying any of it. “I see,” he said. “I’m only sorry you had to do it the way you did, and I’m grateful you were willing to do it to save my life.”

A frown appeared between her slender eyebrows as she studied him. A corner of her mouth lifted. She told him, “You did hear what I said, didn’t you? I wouldn’t let anyone else bite me. But you . . . Xavier, I loved it with you. I do trust you, and I loved giving you something so important.”

The invisible band that had begun to tighten around his chest eased, and warmth, heat and light flooded him. He caressed the tender skin at her temple with his lips. He whispered, “Thank you for giving it to me.”

Her expression gentled. “Even at your worst, you were reluctant to do it, and you stopped almost immediately.” Hesitating for a moment, she murmured, “Can you do it again—now that we’re safe?”

The thought of sharing something so powerful with her made him close his eyes. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder as his whole body pulsed with desire. “I could,” he muttered. If anything, his penis grew even harder, and he felt like he was on fire. Without his conscious volition, his fangs descended. He managed to say, more or less coherently, “I wouldn’t have to take any more blood.”

Lifting her head, she whispered in his ear, “So, bite me.”

She deliberately used the same words and inflection from the first time, but then, she had been defiant and afraid. Now, the way she said them was in a soft, sensual invitation, and they sent him tumbling back deep into the well in his soul, which filled with fire.

Growling low in his throat, he nipped at the soft, fleshy part of her shoulder, and his fangs penetrated her skin. Only lightly—he would not bite deep—but it was enough to let the smallest trickle of her blood flow onto his tongue.

The pure power of it flooded him, such precious, beautiful life. It was a blood covenant unlike any other that he had experienced, given from love to love.

A shaking groan left her parted lips. She arched up to his mouth, whispering, “Oh, my God. My God.”

A demon overtook him. He growled in her head, You’ll never give this to anyone else.Never give it to anyone but me.

Of course, she had already said it, but no matter how ridiculous it was, he had to demand it.

“Never,” she gasped.

I want you so much, you make me die a little, he muttered. He ran his hands all over her, greedy to experience everything at once.

“What?” Her head twisted on the pillow, eyes bewildered and glazed. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Dimly, he realized he had lapsed back into his native tongue, but he was so twisted up with the intensity of his need, he couldn’t find his way back to speaking English again.

He gave up on the effort and praised the texture of her skin, the perfection of her lips, which grew swollen and moist from his kisses.

The taste of her skin, the softness of her breasts.

The beauty in her eyes. The strength in her spirit.

He slid down her body to lavish all of his attention on her breasts. Her nipples pebbled underneath his mouth as he suckled at her. He drew hard, raking his fingernails lightly along the length of her thigh, until she spread her legs wide and let him delve into her incredible, soft fluted flesh.

She was so wet, so wet.

She knotted her hands in his hair and pulled his head back up to hers. She said against his mouth, “I’ve really got to learn how to speak Spanish.”

When she grasped his cock, he shook all over. Obeying her silent urging, he fell back against the pillows and she came up to straddle him. He cupped her breasts again as she guided him between her legs, and she rubbed the tip of his erection back and forth on her, moistening the head.

Then she eased down, taking his stiff, hard length inside of her, and she felt so good, so tight, so absolutely, utterly perfect, he arched up to her, driving in as deeply as he could go.

She threw back her head, flexing her torso as she braced herself with both flattened hands on his chest. Her face was flushed, her eyes closed, as she lost herself in the moment.

That was what pulled him out of his own pleasure. He stared at her, transfixed by the sight of her. Her hair was tangled, and her skin showed rosy patches where his mouth had been.

He had marked her, him. She would never give anyone else blood, but him. She was lost in pleasure that he gave her.

Lightness filled the well in his soul. No one else might be able to hear his thoughts in that deep place, or know the balance of his decisions, but she joined him there. She did join him there, and he was not alone.

He spread his hands along the tops of her thighs, bracing her as she rode him, and he used his thumbs to stroke along the point of his entry into her flesh. When he reached her clitoris, her expression twisted with the most delicious agony. She ground down hard on him and sobbed for breath.

Watching her climax filled him with the deepest kind of pleasure. He whispered to her, small, gentle things, and when a tear slid down her cheek, he stroked it away.

When she finished, she looked down at him with such clear intent.

Then she bent forward and bit his lip, and he went crazy. Growling, he snatched her tight against him, one arm around her waist, the other gripping the back of her head, and he pistoned up into her tight, tight passage.

Truly, he couldn’t stand it—the pressure was driving him insane. He gasped in her ear, “You are so fucking mine.”

She lifted her head, with a look of surprise. “You said that in English.”

He paused, just for a moment, and surfaced somewhat from the passionate haze. “Well,” he said, even as he still moved inside her, “you really needed to know that.”

Her face lit with such beautiful luminosity. “I love you.”

Now, that was a gift he hadn’t seen coming. He pumped once, twice, three more times, and gave everything he had into her. It rode him hard, that climax, and he shuddered with the force of it.

Stroking his face, she rocked with him gently, until it had passed.

Me encantas, he whispered, kissing her temple. Te amo, querida. Te amo.

Sprawling across him, she laid her head on his shoulder with a sigh so deep, it shook down her entire length. He laced his fingers with hers, buried his face in her tangled hair and drifted into peaceful silence.

He could tell when she fell asleep. She did so suddenly, her body going completely lax. He could not quite join her. Once they stopped making love and the pleasure eased away, the dull, lingering ache from the poison kept him from truly resting.

He didn’t mind. He was too grateful to be alive, embodied and so intimately connected with her. Instead of trying to fight it, he surrendered to the experience, drifting with the ache, and relishing every moment of being with her.

They had survived. He would take her home. They would build something together. He didn’t know what. He didn’t really care. It would be some kind of definition that worked.

He would take her to his bed. They could sit on the veranda and listen to the wind play in the redwood forest.

And they would waltz. Yes, somehow they would waltz. Maybe she would like to join him sometimes in his study.

He remembered the book he had been reading when she had first come into his study, that old friend of his, Rene Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy.

In his Meditations, Descartes had written one of the most famous tenets of modern Western philosophy.

Cogito ergo sum.

I think, therefore I am.

He had admired Descartes for many years, but while he stroked his fingers through Tess’s hair, patiently smoothing out every tangle, Xavier felt those words take an inevitable, gigantic shift into something profoundly different.

I love, he thought. Therefore I truly live.

Then he let it all go, gently, and was finally able to drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.