Amber's POV
Amber was stunned anew at how viciously Harry fought the two men, pounding his forehead against Niall's and nearly taking off Liam's hand with his fangs.
In the end, his resisting gained him no ground. They injected him once again. Just before it took hold, Harry stared in her direction with his brows drawn and teeth gritted, and she found that so much harder to see now.
When did my curiosity turn to caring?
His brothers had treated him like an animal - because that was how he'd acted mere days ago. She understood the need to keep him contained because he was not in control of his mind fully and could be dangerous if freed.
But he'd been doing so much better. And they hadn't even given him a chance...
As Liam and Niall led him, docile and barefooted, into the oversized master bathroom, Harry's eyes were heavy-lidded, and he'd begun speaking in that low, unnerving voice. His wrists remained chained behind his back. They must be intent on washing him. Curious, she followed them in.
Amber's second dirty secret? As a ghost, she'd become quite the voyeur.
She'd watched men shower before, but she'd never been so intent to discover what a particular man's body would look like as she was now.
While Niall adjusted the water temperature and opened a bar of soap, Liam ripped away the remains of Harry's tattered shirt.
From her spot halfway up the far wall, Amber sighed, admiring Harry's powerful physique. She hadn't appreciated exactly how tall he was because he'd been lying down for so long. He would tower over her if she stood near him.
He had a narrow waist and h*ps and broad shoulders that looked tailor-made for a woman to hold on to during sex. With his hands behind his back, the corded muscles of those shoulders and his chest were stretched taut, displayed so attractively. She also discovered that his left arm, like she had expected, was also full of random tattoos.
He was all male hardness, with so many scars marring his flesh, like the narrow one slashing up his torso. But she'd begun to find the evidence of his formidable life attractive, had begun imagining a scenario for each battle wound.
She'd seen Harry fight with a ferocity that astonished her. She could all too easily see him brandishing a sword three hundred years ago, a massive general fearlessly storming a battlefield...
A ragged bandage on his neck caught her attention. This was the wound he was being controlled by.
"Christ, look at all the scars, Liam."
"I had no idea he'd sustained this many hits during the war," he answered, moving behind Harry to inspect his back.
"Maybe he had them before the war." Sebastian yanked free Harry's belt. "Think about it - he never worked without his shirt, and he continually went off by himself. He could have been a highwayman for all we know..." He trailed off at Liam's expression. "What?"
"Come look at this," Liam said, so Amber followed Niall around. All three of them frowned at an elaborate black tattoo covering his right arm just below the elbow. It appeared to be an eagle. "Isn't that the mark of the Kapsliga Uur?"
What's the Kapsliga Uur? Why did their faces pale at the very idea?
"That can't be right," Niall said, an edge to his voice. "We'd have known. They recruit young. He couldn't have hidden his involvement for two decades."
Seeming lost in his own world, Harry continued his rasping mutter, unaware of their discovery.
"He always did his own thing, always brushed off questions about where he'd been or with whom," Liam said. "My God. He'd been out hunting vampires with the Kapsliga. Do you think he had already been bitten when he did this?
Niall's face was grim. "It would have been before he was bitten. If he was already a vampire they would have killed him."
"And then I turned him into what he despised." Liam released a breath through his teeth as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. "It would have been unendurable."
"What about their vow?" What vow?
If possible, Liam paled even more. "For all his faults, Harry never broke a vow in his life. Unless it happened before he'd turned thirteen... " Unless what happened?
The two were silent for long moments, Niall's expression grave while Liam's was filled with guilt. "His life had been given over to a cause greater than himself. I should have" - Liam ran his hand over his forehead - "I should have talked to him, given him, and you, the choice that night."
"Harry was too far gone. The soldiers gutted him before me, hours before you and Zayn came. I don't believe he would ever have regained consciousness." He spoke as if he'd sidestepped the direst tragedy.
She floated in front of Harry to face him. He'd been stabbed in the stomach, she in the heart. Then against their wills, they'd both been changed into something else entirely. Neither of them had asked for their current existences.
He'd been a hero, his life given over to a greater cause. She sighed, waving her hand to send a gentle touch along his cheek. What happened to you out there, vampire?
Niall said, "But he'll never reconcile himself to our existence unless we can convince him that his thoughts aren't his own."
Liam nodded his head in agreement. "He seems to be doing at least a little better. We shall see in time. Let's finish this."
They stripped off his pants, leaving him na**d.
And she swayed weightlessly. Le dément est exquis.
Her gaze slid from his navel, following that trail of black hair. Oh, my, my, my. Even flaccid, his size was brow-raising.
"Harry, look at me." Liam waved in front of his vacant stare.
Harry blinked as if he had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there.
"Do you want to wash yourself?" Liam asked. "If we chain your hands in front of you?"
Seeming to shake off some of his confusion, Harry eased his muttering. A flicker arose in those red eyes.
He's calculating. At length, Harry grated, "Alone."
The brothers shared a glance, no doubt reviewing all the ways Harry couldn't escape. "Very well," Liam said.
Harry held his wrists up behind him, and all the rippling muscles of his torso flexed into sharp rises and indentations that spoke of a terrible strength.
After removing the cuffs, Liam refastened them in front, then pulled a pin to loosen the chain between the wrists so Harry could have more freedom. When Harry made no attempt to escape, they glanced at each other as if their brother was making outrageous progress. Which, she supposed, he was.
"I've left a towel and a change of clothes on the rack," Niall said. "They should fit. But if not, we've brought plenty more - "
"Alone!" Harry snapped. When they finally left, he entered the spacious shower stall.
Still facing her direction, he stepped under the water and let it cascade over his back. He appeared exhausted from the medicine, as if his limbs felt heavy and ungainly, but he seemed to enjoy the simple pleasure of the water sluicing over his body.
I envy him every drop!
He picked up the bar of soap, smelled it. Finding it acceptable, he lathered his face, then leaned back against the tile so that the water ran over his front.
And all she could do was stare because, as the blood, plaster, and burn marks washed from his skin in thick, grimy rivulets, a handsome visage surfaced.
No, not merely handsome, more like extraordinary.
She'd known he had pleasing features but hadn't been able to look past the unnatural eyes and dirt to truly appreciate his soft lips and wide, masculine jaw, or how his nose was aristocratic and strong.
Punch-drunk. That's how she felt about seeing his clean face and unclothed body as a whole. She'd heard women talk about encountering a man so devastatingly gorgeous they'd felt breathless, dizzy. Now she understood.
It dawned on her that though she'd spied on men before, never had any male as sexually attractive as this graced her shower stall.
When he began to rub the soap over his chest and under his arms, the slick muscles in his torso bulged in a breathtaking display. It'd take her weeks to learn just those muscles alone - how they flexed, how his body could move...
The soap went lower.
She swallowed.
Lower still...
She didn't think she breathed when he lathered between his legs with his big, scarred hands, washing his long shaft and the flesh hanging behind it without interest, while she was dumbstruck.
Am I shaking? For eight decades, she'd never yearned to touch anything as much as his body. Even though she knew she couldn't feel him, it was everything she could do not to reach forward.
His hands abruptly stilled at his privates, and his handsome face flushed. His gaze landed directly on her, before skittering away. He acted the way a reserved, inexperienced man would when he'd realized he was washing in front of an audience of one.
Her eyes went wide. He damn well can see me. She frowned. Then that means I'm being... ignored.
"Vampire, look at me. Please talk to me."
But he gave no reaction. The one man on earth she could communicate with wouldn't talk to her.
Which meant...
"Do you think I'm pretty, Harry? Beautiful, even? After all, you can see me, can't you? And I know you can hear me, too. Now I'm going to prove it. You dare throw down that gauntlet to a woman who entertained for a living? You can't simply shut me out."
Few knew there was a second reason that Amber had chosen her dream of ballet over following in her mama's footsteps, tempting crowds of men as a femme fatale: Turning males into a frothing, gawking, mindless beasts had been too... easy.
With merely a throaty laugh and a dab of her tongue at her bottom lip, Amber could send a man diving for his hat - to cover his stirring lap.
Too easy. And Amber had always craved a challenge.
With a wicked grin, she decided it was time to draw on her shady background, time to put away the popguns and engage the cannons. And Amber had a hidden arsenal he couldn't even comprehend.