Male. Naked. Wet. And effin’ ripped. The makeshift toga had been hiding a chest that made her heart beat faster and a backside that made her knees go weak. Damn.
Drawing a breath, she closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again and peered through the slightly fogged glass one more time.
Utana was standing beside a shower stall, staring at it as if in wonder. He was buck naked, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She had a three-quarter view, and it was the shoulders that got her first. Rippling, bulging, beautiful. Every muscle was visible beneath his smooth, tanned, hairless skin. Then his chest, broad and thick, and then the abs … And as he turned a little more, the blackened section of skin where her blast had hit home. As she focused there, she felt the pain he was still in. He was trying to overcome it, trying to function in spite of it, and, for the most part, he was succeeding in keeping it buried.
He was one powerful man.
Her gaze slid downward—down to his pelvic bones and …
Oh, for the love of … well, it figured he would be hung like a stallion, didn’t it?
She blinked and forced herself to look elsewhere. But it was not safe. His hard butt had just enough curve and dimpled inward at the sides. His thighs were like tree trunks. His calves like banded steel.
God, all right already. She had work to do here.
She had to kill him. She had to destroy that beautiful work of art just beyond the glass. She could probably do it right then. He was so busy staring at the shower, as if he were completely awestruck by the device he’d just made use of. His hair was still wet. He’d shaved at some point. That was probably what had been taking so long. She didn’t imagine his newfound pal had had an easy time showing him how.
Utana dragged a towel from the rack and wiped himself down with it, taking great care on his injured belly.
And then he turned to the sink and twisted the faucets as if for the first time, like a child. As the water ran, he cupped his hands beneath it, and a smile split his face wide. He cranked the faucets off, then back on, then off again.
A moment later he was doing the same with the light switch. On, off, on, off.
Brigit lifted her hand, palm up, fingers loosely resting against her thumb.
His white teeth were perfect, the joy on his face exquisite, despite his pain. He flicked the light a few more times, then gazed at the toilet. Bending, he picked up the lid and stared inside. His smile faded. A frown drew his glorious black brows together as he studied it, tipping his head this way and that. He lifted the tank lid, peeking inside, and his frown grew deeper. Replacing the tank lid, he hit the handle, and with a whoosh the toilet flushed. He jumped back, eyes going wide, and then that smile reappeared. Closing his eyes, he placed both hands on the tank and closed his eyes as if listening, or feeling for something.
Of course, she reminded herself. He could understand how something worked by laying his hands on it, absorbing the information by touch. That was what he was doing now.
Eventually he took his hands away. “Ahh, that is what you do,” he said, his voice loud enough for her to hear beyond the glass. “I guessed well.”
Brigit drew a deep breath and began calling up power from the depths of her. She waited to feel it rising up through her feet, heating her legs, filtering into her spine like magma rising through a volcanic chamber. But it didn’t.
Utana was done with the toilet now. He was picking up articles of clothing that had, apparently, been provided to him by the local Samaritan. He held up the trousers and looked at them doubtfully.
Turning, he yanked open the bathroom door and strode, naked, back into the room, apparently complaining about the pants.
Out of sight. Out of reach. She’d had the chance to save her people, and she had let it slip away. Again. What the hell was wrong with her?
Oh, but that smile … those eyes … told her more clearly than anything what was wrong with her.
She’d stopped seeing him as a killing machine. She’d seen him, just now, as a man. A man who could feel joy in the wonder of hot and cold running water, and electric lights. Like an innocent child, rather than a ruthless killer. A man whose death would mean his return to a state that was a lot like being buried alive.
Exactly like being buried alive.
No one deserved that, did they? Surely there had to be another way.
Slowly she withdrew from the window. She was going to have to follow them still farther, because she was certain now that this motel was not their final destination. If only she had her car.
“My king, you are about to experience something you’ve never even imagined.”
Utana was feeling much better since his bathing, though still hurting immensely from Brigit’s blast. He ignored the pain—something a warrior and king must become adept at doing. It was part, he thought, of being alive, being in a body again. And after being trapped without one for so long, he appreciated even the pain. He felt good, too, about his cleanly shaven face and the minty taste the “teeth-brushing” had left in his mouth, despite still being exhausted, in pain and uncomfortable in the modern clothing he’d reluctantly agreed to wear. The pants, in particular, felt confining and strange.
He looked across the car at his newfound vizier, doubt in his eyes. “You know not the wonder of my … imagines.”
“True enough.” Nashmun was driving, but he pointed up at the sky with one hand. “Have you ever imagined that?”
Scooting lower in the leather seat of the car, Utana tipped his head to stare skyward as the odd-looking bird passed overhead, and he nodded. “Yes, the large birds who soar, but whose wings do not move. I have seen and wondered on these.”
“They’re not birds, my friend. They are airplanes. Very much like the car in which you are riding now. They are machines, made by man, to take us from place to place. But instead of traveling on the ground, as we do in the car, the airplanes fly through the air.”
Utana shot him a look, then craned his neck to see the bird again. “It is not possible.”
“Of course it is. We’re going to ride in one very soon, to take us to your new home.”
“We are … to fly?”
“Yes. You’ll love it.”
Shaking his head as the airplane-bird moved out of sight, vanishing into the clouds, Utana said, “It is a strange world.”
“I’m sure it is. Your English is coming along beautifully, however.”
With a grunt and a nod at the device on the seat beside him, Utana nodded. “The voice that speaks into my ears is … help.”
“It’s an iPod. And the word you want is helpful.”
“Helpful. Yes.” He studied the man, his stomach fluttering with excitement over what was to come, and yet his mind was occupied with matters far more important. And one beautiful woman whose kiss still lingered on his lips. “Where do we fly?”
“There’s
