The Keepers: Ethan

He turned around, the front of him even more muscular than the back, ripples of abs that continued into the towel around his waist. A towel that covered a very smooth, naked waist she had no business ogling.

But darn, she couldn’t help it. Fully dressed, she found it hard to tear her eyes away from him. Seeing him half-naked? Impossible.

She averted her gaze, suddenly all too aware of how underdressed they were. Something stirred inside, a swirl of desire that mingled with the curiosity, and she couldn’t deny the trickle of satisfaction that followed. She’d been alone for so long, trapped with people she despised. Survival – for herself and Kate – had been first and foremost on her mind. Not sex. It had been years since she’d felt any attraction to a man.

Until Ethan.

Oblivious to her scrutiny, Ethan tossed the box onto the couch beside her and headed to the bathroom. He stopped in front of a wooden drawer against the wall to pull out some clothes.

The glimpse of scarred flesh beneath his left arm surprised her. It ran along the entire length of his side from his hip to shoulder. A scar?

An old one. One his magic had never healed.

He shut the drawer and disappeared into the bathroom.

Puzzled, she sipped her water and looked around the room. A king-size bed nestled between two large windows overlooking the vineyards. The blinds were closed, the room lit by a single lamp. The wall opposite the bed had been tiled in natural stone tiles, a fireplace in the centre. Immaculate – which didn’t surprise her. Everything about him was neat. His kitchen, the restaurant, the way he dressed, even his hair. He was an overworked, cranky housewife’s dream.

With a charming smile, heaps of mystery and a body that could easily change the cranky status quo in a flash.

The thought sparked a grin and she leaned into the couch, wincing at the sting of pain in her back. She adjusted her robe.

Fluffy and soft. A little comfort in a lot of pain.

Ethan returned to the couch, dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of black draw-string cotton pants.

Darn. She’d liked him naked.

The smell of soap and man permeated the air and she released a dreamy sigh.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything and sat beside her. He held up a shiny gadget he’d taken from the first-aid box, snapping the points together. “Ready?”

She groaned. “Why do I get the feeling this’ll be painful?”

“Once the glass is out, it should heal soon.”

Quicker than he’d expect. All Keepers had the ability to heal rapidly, but she was different. She healed instantly.

“It’s still gonna hurt like hell. Why weren’t Keepers blessed with a higher pain threshold?”

“Because we’re mortals. Not gods.”

“So why couldn’t we be mortals with higher thresholds?”

“Don’t be a sissy. Pain keeps us real.”

“I can think of other things that keep me real.”

He smiled. “The painkillers will help.”

“Maybe.” She waved a hand at his clothes. “But I preferred the towel. It made for a great distraction.”

A smile curled his lips and she stared at them, wondering what he’d taste like.

His grin widened at her scrutiny. “Clearly you’re in more pain than I thought.”

Not for long. Once he removed the glass, her magic would heal the flesh immediately – if she allowed it to. But he couldn’t know that. Not yet. Exposing her magic would expose her lineage – and she hadn’t had enough painkillers for that conversation.

He made a circular motion with his finger. “Turn around and lower your robe.”

“I hope you use better word choices for the women you bed.”

His smile was pure mischief. “Trust me, babe, when it comes to bedding a woman, I have a separate vocabulary.”

“That would explain your popularity.” She laughed and turned around, lowering the robe off one shoulder, just enough to reveal the wound whilst still keeping her tattoos hidden. Until she figured out what they meant, they were for her eyes only.

He didn’t answer and she glanced over her shoulder. A fierce frown had tightened his expression.

“Sexy, huh?” she said, opting for a cheerful tone. “A casualty of being caught between the road and the bike. Not my most graceful moment, but it all happened so damn fast.”

With a quiet grunt, he picked at the shards of glass embedded in her flesh. “You’re right. This will hurt.”

Like a bitch. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from wincing. “You should have stayed in the towel, though. Given me something to think about while you do that.”

“Something wrong with your imagination?”

“No need for my imagination. I’ve seen you naked.”

“You haven’t seen the best part.”

“Just as well. That might make things weird between us.”

He picked at the glass, dropping the splinters into the empty bowl beside him. “Weird can be fun.”

Amusement coloured his tone, words meant to tease, but stroked her imagination. “I haven’t had fun for a very long time.”

His hand stilled and he leaned forward, touching his lips to her ear. “Well, maybe you should do something about that.”

She stifled a shiver and elbowed him. “Stop messing with me.”

He laughed and touched her shoulder. “I’m distracting you. We’re done, they’re all out.”

“Already?” She’d expected worse.

“Nothing like a little friendly banter to dampen the pain.”

“Whiskey works just as well.”

“Maybe, but that was way more entertaining. It should heal soon.”

“I know.” She’d already felt the stir of energy, the magical touch that would wipe her slate clean. It was always exhilarating, but for now, she held back, reeling in the swirl of power. A pro at keeping her magic hidden. Adjusting the robe, she twisted to face him, relieved the pain had lessened. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Of course. You were hurting.” He discarded the bowl, wiped his hands on a towel, and leaned back against the couch. “We should get some sleep. We have a lot to discuss and my brothers won’t rest for long.”

For a while, they stayed silent, their mood shifting as reality crept in.

She tilted her head to look over her shoulder. His eyes were closed, his previous playfulness replaced by weariness. He’d lowered his guard, a warrior at rest. Beside her.

A beautiful man in the wake of a very ugly night.

“Will there ever be a time when we’re not fighting the world?” she asked softly.

“We’re not fighting the world, Jen. We’re protecting it.”

“Would be nice to have an off day now and then.” A small smile broke free and he tugged her closer. With a large sigh, she nestled into the cushions beside him. “How are we going to stop Hazel?”

“We found a way to stop her nephews. We’ll find a way to stop her too.”

Sighing softly, she relaxed against the couch, against him. It felt good to have him near. It eased the anxiety gnawing at her, if only for a moment, and when she tilted her head so that it rested on his shoulder, he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he rested his head against hers. The gesture triggered a small smile, giving her a case of the warm and fuzzies she’d seldom experienced.

They stayed like that for a long while, words unnecessary, revelling in the stillness they always found with each other.

She opened her eyes, fighting the fatigue. “I should go to bed.”

“Hm.” He sounded just as sleepy, but neither of them moved.

“Don’t mention this to Declan, okay?” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“Don’t worry about Declan. He’s the least of our problems.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jenna stirred two hours later, curled up on the couch, her head in Ethan’s lap.

In his lap.

Lovely.

Her cheeks flared with heat and she sat up, hoping like hell she hadn’t drooled on him. She wiped her mouth, relieved to find it dry.

He’d slept upright, his head resting against the back cushion. Sleep had eased his frown, masking the quiet thoughtfulness that often simmered in his eyes. He had tousled hair and a jaw covered in stubble. Rugged and asleep – a glimpse of him she’d never seen before.

Unable to tear her eyes away, she took her fill, fascinated by the vision of morning male beauty. Even in sleep, he looked powerful. Wide shoulders and a body of muscles that strained against his white t-shirt. He still wore his leather necklace, the pendant hidden beneath his t-shirt – one she recognised. His one hand rested on her waist, the other on his thigh. Beautiful hands. Working hands. His sleeve had crept up, revealing a glimpse of tattoo. She swallowed, caught by the urge to run her fingers across the ink. Or cuddle up to him again.

And she never cuddled. Ever. If anything, physical affection was something she usually avoided – a result of being raised for so many years in the mortal world without any. After leaving her parents in Ameera, she’d soon learnt that acts of kindness and attention usually came with a price.

But something about Ethan’s presence, the calm that radiated off him as he slept, drew her in.

“Stop staring at me,” he said quietly, eyes still closed, “it’s creeping me out.”

Despite the flush that crept into her cheeks, she smiled and hugged a cushion against her chest. Like that would conceal everything. “I’m looking at your pendant.”

Long, dark eyelashes lifted to reveal beautiful, sleepy blue eyes. “Liar.”

She tossed the cushion at him.

Ignoring it, he grinned and rolled his shoulders, breaking out into a yawn. “Are you okay?”

Besides the sudden rush of butterflies to her stomach? Yeah, great. “I’m fine.”

He glanced at his watch and groaned. “Damn, only two hours?”

“We’ve got by with less sleep.”

“I know but it still sucks. In my next life, I want to be an accountant. They get eight hours’ sleep a night, don’t they?”

“The honest ones maybe.”

“Cool, done deal then.”

She couldn’t quite picture him as a number-pusher. “But think of the adrenaline rushes you’ll miss. I don’t think accountants get to ward off an attack of crows, chase a bunch of shifters and flee from hellhounds.”

“Exactly.” He stood and headed for the bathroom. He returned a few minutes later and within moments, the aroma of fresh coffee filled the air, enticing and comforting, the machine quietly bubbling away as it brewed the liquid.

She ran her fingers through her hair and hoped there were no mascara remains beneath her eyes. She slipped into the bathroom to check anyway. Nope, all clean. But the bathroom smelt like him. His soap, his scent. An aroma that quickened her breath. Stifling an inward groan, she splashed her face and rinsed her mouth.

He was waiting for her at the couch, two mugs in his hand. He’d finger-smoothed his hair, his cheeks covered by a thin fuzz she found far too sexy. “No doubt, my brothers are downstairs in full planning mode. I find them more manageable with a dose of caffeine.”

She smiled and took the mug, the gesture as sweet as it was appreciated. She needed the caffeine kick after last night. The thought triggered a wave of dread as reality came crashing down on her.

“I almost lost my witch last night, Ethan.” The frightening reality they always feared and fought to prevent.

“Maybe, but you didn’t, Jen. You brought her home.”

“I was watching for everything but the hellhounds. By the time I saw them, it was too late. They moved so damn fast.”

“Hazel’s crazy and unpredictable. We do the best we can. Now that we know the portal’s open, we’ll be more careful.”

“And what happens when our best isn’t good enough?”

It was a fear they faced every day.

He sipped his coffee. He wore a ring on each hand, almost identical. The mark of a Keeper. Antique silver rings, each etched with a pentagram. A symbol of everything they were, everything they fought for.

Most Keepers only wore one. Ethan wore two – his own and the ring that had once belonged to his sister.

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