Before he could stop himself, he came.

Zarya laughed in triumph as she felt him finally shuddering from his own orgasm. That, and a subtle intake of breath in her ear was her only clue that she'd sated him. He was always so quiet whenever he made love to her that in the beginning of their relationship, she'd feared he wasn't enjoying it. Rarely did he make even the slightest sound.

But she had no doubts about his pleasure tonight as he buried his hand gently in her curls, then kissed the nape of her neck. "I think I've died and gone to paradise."

She was still getting used to his new voice. How odd to know his touch so well and to have all the rest of him be a stranger to her.

He lay himself over her body so that she could feel his heart pounding against her shoulder in a frantic rhythm.

"Are you all right, back there?" she teased, wanting to keep him in his current playful mood.

"Never better." He brushed her hair across her shoulders before he nuzzled her neck and breathed her in. "I didn't hurt your ankle, did I?"

"No."

Grateful for that, Darling pulled away enough so that he could admire her beautiful skin. But he frowned as he saw the marks on her that his beard had left behind. Her skin looked so irritated from it. He brushed his hand over the rash as guilt stabbed him.

Damn...

"I'll be right back."

Zarya rolled over with a contented sigh to watch him walk naked toward the bathroom. Though he still wasn't as muscular as he'd been before his torture, his lean muscles were well defined and prominent.

Even scarred, he was gorgeous, and that predacious walk...

It made her hot all over again.

Smiling, she lay there lost in thought until she heard a loud, resounding curse ring out from the bathroom. It was followed by the sounds of things crashing to the floor and breaking.

What in the known universe?

Worried that an assassin might be attacking Darling, she pushed herself up and went to see what was happening. As she opened the door, her worry turned to horror. There was blood everywhere. On the counter, the towels, and all over the sink.

Darling sat on the floor with his legs pulled tight against his chest, his forehead resting on his knees and his head covered by his muscular arms. He was so still that she wasn't sure he was breathing.

Blood covered his hands and ran down his legs to drip onto the tile.

Had an assassin broken in and hurt him? That thought terrified her.

Ignoring her ankle, she rushed to him. "Darling?"

He tightened his hands over his head, but refused to look at her.

That only scared her more. "Honey, what's wrong? Where are you wounded?"

"I'm not wounded," he snarled in rabid anger.

She touched the hands he had laced on top of his bent head. "I don't understand. What happened?"

When he finally lifted his head, her breath caught in her throat. But it was the bitter rage in his eyes that tore through her.

His left cheek was bleeding profusely.

He curled his lip. "I can't even shave for the fucking scars. I keep nicking them."

Completely confused, she tried to understand. "Why were you trying to shave?"

He reached out and touched her shoulder. "I didn't want to irritate your beautiful skin."

Her heart wrenched at those sincere words, at the tenderness in his voice. He'd hurt himself attempting to protect her. That, and for many, many other reasons, was why she loved him so.

She picked his hand up from her shoulder and kissed it. "You didn't have to shave for me."

Rage flared in his eyes before he banged his head against the wall so hard, she was surprised he didn't break through the slate tiles. "I'm so fucking useless. What kind of man can't even shave his own face?"

The agony in his damaged voice made her eyes water as her heart broke even more. She cupped his face in her hands. "You're not useless. Damn it! Grow a beard to your knees for all I care. It doesn't hurt me."

But the problem was, it hurt him and that was unbearable to her.

He scowled. "How can you even stand to look at me like this? I'm revolting."

"No, you're not. And it's not a hardship by any means. I think you're gorgeous."

He scoffed. "Bullshit. You think I don't know what'll happen if I show this"-he scraped his hand angrily against his bleeding cheek-"in public? I already went through this once. The cringing and grimacing, and the whispering. The sighs and looks of gratitude that they're not the ones who are scarred. The glares of distaste as people step away from me, or refuse to look at me at all because it turns their stomachs. Having people ask what happened so I can relive it over and over again until I want to scream. I couldn't stand it the first time, but at least it was only on one side of my face then. So long as my hair stayed in place, no one saw it. This shit"-he gestured at both sides of his face-"I can't hide."

Except with the mask that covered everything...

She set her chin down on his knee and looked up at him, wanting desperately to make him feel better. "You know I'd do you."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "You're a fool."

She trailed her hand over the muscles of his chest to his ripped eight-pack and then lower still. "What's that say about you since you're the one keeping me around?"

Darling didn't really hear those words. Not while she stroked his cock with her hand and he stared into those amber eyes that soothed him in a way nothing else did. He could almost believe he wasn't disgusting when she treated him like this and looked at him as if he were worth something.

Like he was human and still desirable.

She slid herself closer, then went down on him.

His breathing ragged, he ground his teeth at how good she felt tonguing his body. All his thoughts scattered and he forgot where he was and how he looked. The only thing he felt now was how much he loved the way her long hair fanned out across his legs. Sighing, he leaned his head back and savored her sweet mouth on him until there was nothing else in existence except the two of them.

After a few minutes, she lifted her head to smile at him. "Come on, sweetie. Let's get you cleaned up and I can continue, okay?"

Right then, he'd have followed her into hell, smiling the whole way.

Zarya stood, hoping she'd helped his mood. In a strange way, his current bashfulness and reserve toward her reminded her a lot of how he'd been after the first time she'd touched him. For weeks afterward, he'd been bashful and awkward whenever she was near. Finally, she'd cornered him one afternoon in the kitchen of the Resistance's HQ.

Even though she couldn't see anything other than his black battlesuit and helmet, he was still the most beautiful man she'd ever known.

"Kere, nothing has changed between us." She'd taken his gloved hand into hers and kissed it. "I don't ask or expect anything of you. I'm here if you need me, that's all. The last thing I want to do is to make you uncomfortable."

"It's not that."

"Then what?"

He'd led her hand down his body, to his crotch so that she could feel how swollen he was. "Every time I see you now, all I can think about is how good you felt. How much I want you."

Grateful for that, she'd smiled up at him. "I'm here for you anytime you want me. No strings. No demands." She'd locked the door and then turned the lights off for him. Because there were no windows in the room, it had been so dark she couldn't see anything at all.

That was how she'd learned that Darling had perfect vision in the dark. How she'd learned that he could make her come within minutes of touching her...

Now, after all they'd shared, he was bashful with her again.

Unable to look at her, he stood, then picked her up and carried her to his room that connected to hers through the door in the center of the far wall. While her room was pastel blue and white, his was decorated in dark blues, maroon, and gold. The royal Cruel seal was carved into a headboard that went all the way up to the ornately gilded ceiling.

Even bigger than her room, it was one of the largest rooms in the palace. Only the throne room, dining hall, and ballroom were larger.

Darling closed the door to her room and headed for his bed. As gently as he could, he set her down on the mattress.

"Where are you going?" she asked as he stepped away from her.

"I'm not completely helpless, Z."

"I didn't say you were, Captain Defensive."

He paused before he opened the door. "Stay there. I'll be right back. Have no fear. If I use a razor again, it'll be to cut my throat."

Zarya cringed at his warped humor. "That's not funny, you know."

He didn't respond. Instead, he vanished into what must be his bathroom.

A few seconds later, she heard water running.

After a handful of minutes he was back with two warm, damp cloths. He handed one to her to clean herself while he called housekeeping to clean her room next door.

Then he laid back on the bed, and covered his face with the other cloth.

As she leaned against him, she saw a frame on his nightstand. Curious about its contents, she reached over him and pulled it closer, then turned it on.

It was a photo of Darling as a boy, probably around the age of ten. He stood beside his tall, lean father, and behind his mother who sat holding a female toddler with curling red hair. A dark-haired boy a few years younger than Darling stood next to Natale's knees.

"Is this your family?"

He pulled one corner of the cloth back so that he could see what she was looking at. "Yeah. That's them."

They looked so happy together. But that made her wonder something...

"Why isn't your family here at the palace?"

Shouldn't they be the ones helping him to heal instead of Maris? Granted Lise was in school, but still...

If Darling was her brother, she wouldn't have left him alone in the mental condition he was in. He needed people around him who loved him and could reassure and help him while he healed. People who didn't mind his physical appearance or limitations.

He sighed irritably. "My sister's at school, mad that I caused her to flunk her classes, and that she's going to have a permanent limp because of the attack she survived."

"That wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it? If I hadn't pulled her out of school, she would have been fine. Not still going to physical therapy twice a week and living on painkillers that make it hard for her to maintain her course load and grades. But for my interference, she'd have graduated with honors this year. Now, because of me, she'll be lucky to graduate at all."

That was twisted logic. "I doubt she thinks that."

"I don't. I hear her rant about it every time I call."

Zarya started to tell him that she'd had an entirely different impression from her earlier conversation with Lise, but she wasn't sure he wanted her talking to his sister.

"What about your brother?"

"Poor bastard's taking care of his mother."

She noted the fact that he didn't refer to Natale as his mother. "And she is...?"

"At the Summer Palace."

Zarya frowned at that. It didn't make sense. His brother and sister... Okay, there were times when she couldn't be there for Sorche.

But a mother?

"Why isn't she here? Is she ill?"

When he spoke, the raw anger in his voice chilled her. "No. I don't want her here."

"Whyever not?"

"I don't want to see the way she refuses to look at me, okay?"

"I don't understand."

He sighed wearily. "Be glad you don't. My mother doesn't mean to be selfish. She just always had a man to protect and care for her, a staff of servants to cater to her every whim, and a nurse or tutor to care for us. She doesn't know what to do when she's supposed to be the caregiver-other than delegate it to someone else. It's hard for her to think about other people."

"But you're her son."

"I know. I love my mother and I hate her guts. I guess that's my curse. To only want women who put me through hell."

That stung her like a slap in the face, but she forced her own anger down. "I didn't hurt you intentionally."

"My mother doesn't believe she does either. She thinks she's a great, loving mother who has done nothing but sacrifice her life for us. One who does her best and only tells us what we need to hear." Sliding the cloth to his neck, he returned the frame to his nightstand. His eyes were empty as he turned the power off and lay back against the pillows.

Zarya glanced around the elegant room that held no other personal items of his in it. Nothing. No childhood mementos of any kind. No other pictures.