on his shoulder, but he didnât draw him in for a kiss.
âI need to go see Cassandra,â Jarrett said.
âI know,â Tenn replied.
Jarrettâs other hand tilted Tennâs head up, so their gazes met.
âThis isnât your fault,â he said. âI know you think it is. I know you think they died because of you. But thatâs just a part of the job. They died killing a necromancer. Thatâs it.â
âBut he was after me.â
âHe wonât ever have you. Not so long as Iâm alive.â
âPlease stop saying that,â Tenn said.
Jarrett bit his lip, but he didnât say it again.
âI love you,â he said instead. There was no saccharine sweetness to his words. They were serious, uncompromising. They were truth.
âI love you too,â Tenn said. âIâll see you back in the room.â
Jarrett nodded and leaned in for one kiss. âIâll bring you some dinner when I get back.â
Then he stepped back and walked up the stairs. Tenn stood there for a while, listening to Jarrettâs feet echo in the stairwell. Then he grabbed the railing and walked down, toward his quarters. His chest felt tight, and not just because he was terrified of Jarrettâs drive toward martyrdom. Cassandra would want to know everything. Everything. And he had a funny feeling she wouldnât want him in the guild anymore once she learned all of Leannaâs swords were trained on him.
Tenn lit the hurricane lamp in his room before shrugging off his coat and shutting the door behind him. The rooms had been constructed years ago by an Earth mage when it became clear that the Hunters needed a separate living space from those they were charged to keep safe. The room was simple, cleanâsmooth earthen walls that shone like black marble, a worn Oriental rug, a few lamps and candles, and a large bed. It had made him feel guilty at first, being lodged here while the rest of the citizens lived three or four to a room on the outside. Then news from New Orleans came in that a civilian had helped smuggle his fiancée, now a bloodling, into camp, sure that she would never, ever kill like the other monsters. The ensuing bloodbath had been proof enough of the necessity for separation. Hunters were few and far between, even when they werenât being murdered in their own beds. Not to mention, Tenn had a sinking feeling that Caius and his ilk would be more than happy to do âGodâs good work.â
He stood in the suffocating silence and stared at the wall.
He wasnât hungry, he wasnât terribly tiredâboth personally astounding given the fact that heâd been using Earth and hadnât slept for forty-eight hours. The wall gave no answers. He hadnât expected it to.
âLost in thought, Tenn?â Tenn whipped around. Tomás.
The incubus leaned against the door, one foot propped against the wood in a pose that reminded Tenn of those old cowboy posters. The fact that Tomás was wearing snakeskin boots didnât help, though Tenn had never seen a cowboy go about in skin-tight black jeans and no shirt. He couldnât help his eyes from wandering over the curve of Tomásâs lips, the arch of his collarbones, the perfect âVâ of his torso. Tomás seemed to glow in the lamplight. Or maybe thatâs just how he always looked.
âHow did you get in here?â Tenn asked. His voice caught in his throat. He tried to keep his pulse under control.
âOh, I come and go where I please.â Tomás pushed himself away from the door and sauntered closer to Tenn. The guy gave off so much heat; he must have fed recently. Tenn wondered who theyâd find dead and frozen in the morning. âIâm glad to see you made it back alive.â
Another step, and he was only a foot away. Tomás reached out and caressed Tennâs cheek. Tenn tried not to flinch. He tried not to pull the demon