Page 102 of Turn That River Red

It feels good, of course, because of where he’s touching me, but it also feels chaste somehow. Holy. I drop my head back as the shower beats across my chest, but all I can think of is Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. That is what this feels like, as Ambrose bows in front of me, worshipping me with his careful touch.

He sets my foot down on the tile and tugs me forward atthe hips to wash the soap away. I lay my hand on the top of his head as he’s done to me so many times, and he tilts his gaze upward.

My monster, my demon. Kneeling before me after claiming me as his own.

No man will ever touch you again.

That’s all I want. To belong to one person who loves me?—

The thought jars me. He can’t love me, can he? Not a killer like him.

Except this feels like love.

“I’m not done, humanita,” he says, right before he kisses the damp triangle of my pubic hair, his lips too far away from my clit to do anything but make me sigh.

Then he keeps going, washing my thighs, my calves.

My feet.

He guides me backward to do that, until my back is pressed against the cool tile, and lifts up one foot to lather with soap. I stare at him through the steam, my breath shuddery.

He’s the devil.

He’s Jesus Christ.

He’smine.

And when he finishes, he sets my foot down and rocks back on his heels. The shower pounds around us, almost uncomfortably warm. Or maybe I’m just warmed by his touch.

“There you are,” he says. “All clean.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Ambrose smiles, and he looks at me in a way no man has ever looked at me before.

And I know this doesn’t just feel like love.

Itislove.

CHAPTER FORTY

AMBROSE

Ithink I understand Sawyer and Jaxon a lot better now.

Mercy sits across from me at the dining room table, eating the omelet I made for her—by the time we got out of the shower, it was nearly dawn. I tried to get her to go back to sleep, tucking her into my bed before I went to clean up the mess I made in her room. I didn’t mind, though, just as I didn’t mind washing her. Blood sure as hell doesn’t bother a creature like me.

It was worth it anyway, to see her come as my blood poured over her. As I marked her asmine.

Mine.That’s all I can think, looking at her now. Mine to feed and protect and care for. Mine to fuck. Mine to pleasure. And the fact that Gunner is still searching for her, wanting to drag her back into fucking servitude, enrages me.

But then Mercy gives me a shy, somewhat confused smile, and the rage recedes. Because he might think he still has a claim on her, but I’m the one that baptized her inmyname.

And she let me. She came while I was doing it.

“This omelet is delicious,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Good to know.” I made one for myself, although unlike hers, mine has meat layered in with the cheese and vegetables. Dane Weeks, a man I hunted a few months back.

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