Cato still hasn't returned yet.

It's odd. He's usually on time, but whoever called him this afternoon while I hung the bedsheets sounded desperate. I try not to overthink the situation. Maybe Cato's distracted with paperwork in his study, a more common phenomena than the other.

I wait in Cato's bedroom. I guess one could call it our bedroom, since I haven't used the spare since Cato and I fell in love again. I wash up in Cato's tub, using his expensive shampoos and conditioners that he bought for me that smell like fruit. When I take one brief glance at myself in the mirror, I see the face of a new woman: velvety blonde waves, clean skin, an elegant nightie (that I discovered Cato adores).

I slip beneath his bedsheets. They're silk, smooth against my skin as I await for him to return. I clench my legs together at the thought of him and I. Just be prepared to stay up all night, he told me. I love his intimacy so much that I haven't thought about much else all afternoon.

But I wait for him. And wait. Until waiting drifts me to sleep.

Then the door clicks open. A soft, almost inaudible noise. I can tell by the delicate steps that it's Cato, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. I open my eyes, catching the outline of his body in the moonlight.

I stroke the sheet in the empty spot where he usually lays. "Come to bed," I breathe into the night.

He keeps his back turned to me. "I need to clean up first."

"Clean up later," I breathe. How can I be such a needy woman for this man?

"Says the one who kicks me out of bed when my breath smells bad," I can feel the warm smile from his lips just from the tone of his words.

I watch as Cato makes his way over to the bathroom, but something catches me off guard. In the darkness, I see him step with a slight limp, a limp that healthy Cato Leveque did not have prior to his departure.

I meander out of bed. By now, he's shut the door to the washroom.

I swing it open, stifling a gasp.

Blood.

So much of it. So much on him.

"Cato?" I breathe.

He stands in front of me with blood-saturated clothing, a slight cut on his cheek dragging across his skin. Those green eyes widen when I enter. Is this why he came back late? What on earth happened?

I reach up and cup his cheeks, forcing him to look into my eyes. "Cato... bloody hell, what happened?"

"Relax," he whispers. "It's not mine."

"You left and you came back covered in blood," I mutter. He seems oddly calm for the situation. It's like he walked straight out of a horror film.

He sighs and runs a hand over his face. It's in that brief moment I catch a hint of his inner weariness about the situation. Whatever happened actually frightened him, but Cato's supposed to be strong. He's the reason his family is staying afloat. He's the one with the grandiose reputation. He's doing it for science. For me. For him.

"There was just an incident at the warehouse," he murmurs as he touches my chin, bringing his lips against mine for a feather-light kiss. "I promise you that it's been taken care of."

"That doesn't explain anything."

There's a brief hostility about his posture, the way his muscles tighten and eyes avoid mine. It's clear he doesn't want to talk, at least not with the evidence of his unknown mistake staining his clothes.

I kiss his cheek. "I'll draw you a bath while you get undressed."

I turn towards the tub, only to have Cato grasp my wrist and spin me back towards him. "Join me."

Those two words come out more as a command rather than a question.

"I've already washed up—"

"Join me."

Our eyes meet, and in his, I catch fear. It's the fear he's been trying to hide for so long. He doesn't want to be alone, and to be honest, neither do I. I nod my head.

He undresses while I prepare the bath. As the warm water caresses my fingertips, I only think of what could've possibly happened that caused so much blood to spill on him. To make matters worse, it's not his own. I'm afraid to ask who it belongs to. Or rather, what it belongs too.

I stand up from the tub, only to have Cato flush my back against his bare chest. His lips brush up my neck. "You don't need to be tense. I'm alright."

"I know," I close my eyes as he kisses my shoulders. His nimble fingers scathe away the straps of my nightie as it falls away from my flesh. "I just wasn't expecting you to return in that condition."

"Neither was I."

The nightie drops to the ground. There we stand. Both bare. Both vulnerable.

I spin around and take him in. Blood smudges his skin. The cut on his cheek has long since scabbed over, and the limp on his leg must be due to a dark black and violet bruise on his thigh and hip. I touch the wound on his leg, my fingers traipsing up his skin, over his abdomen, then up until I tug at his bottom lip with my thumb.

"Can you tell me what happened?" I whisper, pressing my anatomy against his own.

He takes a hold of my wrist, kissing my knuckles. "In the bath."

I nod my head. Cato enters into the tub first, taking a seat. His body fills most of the bath before he opens his arms for me to join. I follow in behind, nestling my body against his. He's warm, his heart erratic within his chest.

I staddle onto his waist, facing him as our lips meet. My fist runs through his chestnut hair. I hold him close. Tight. So near that nothing in the world could break us apart.

He breaks the kiss with a soft moan, his green eyes lidded. His hands take hold of my rear and press me up against his hardening length. His expression suddenly seems shy, as if he wants me near, yet longs to hide himself away from me.

"Cato," I coax, peppering his jaw with kisses.

He slips a hand down to my clit, drawing soft circles. The heat of him and the bath water sets waves of fire through me. My head falls back as a pleasured sigh escapes me.

Cato's kisses find my throat again. "I'll never get tired of coming home to you."

"Should I be worried that you won't?" I breathe.

He pulls away, meeting my eyes.

"We put the occisor at the warehouse, out of sight, until a proper containment facility could be built at the new research centre. Things just got a little out of hand today. I'm fine, Maureen."

"Are you sure keeping it alive is the right thing to do?" I kiss the cut on his cheek. "I noticed you have a limp."

He chuckles. "Of course, you of all people would notice that."

"When you say things got a little out of hand, do you mean—"

"—it escaped?" he says, finishing my sentence. "Yes, it got out of containment, but we managed to sedate it and lock it up with better enforcement."

"Then whose blood is on your clothes?"

He swallows, looking down at my lips. His mind suddenly feels eons away from mine in the tub.

Instead, Cato ignores the question and switches the topic. "The incident actually brought up a new observation about the occisor. It can track scents well, apparently. I'm the one that makes the most contact with it, and it was me who it was drawn to. Although, it was agitated..."

"Of course it would be. You have it in containment."

Cato leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips, forcing a charming smile. "I'm alright. I fucking swear."

But I'm not. This whole situation with him and the occisor puts me on edge. Look at the damage the creature has done to him. The bruises. The cut. The blood that's not even his own.

Cato leans into my shoulder, placing open mouth kisses against my skin. With his hand wrapped under my rear, he urges my parted legs against his erection, but he won't dare go any farther without permission.

"You never answered my question," I murmur.

He drops his mouth to the swell of my breasts. "There's a lot of questions I haven't answered."

"Who does the blood belong to?"

"The occisor," he finally says, focusing more on his kisses than giving me a believable answer. It's clear it's a lie. I can tell by the tone of his voice. "We injured it."

"Cato..." He feels too damn good to argue right now. Bloody hell, he knows he has me won over as my back arches up and my body flushes closer against him.

Our lips find each other, and my mind begins to slip. Instead, I let myself fall in love with him all over again. Our passionate love burns despite the steam and water, and it's not long until I'm positioning myself so we can burn longer.

He traces his finger against my clit, teasing me. "Remember what I said about tonight?" he whispers.

I nod my head.

He smiles against my skin. "Good. Because when I'm done fucking you in this tub, I'll fuck you in bed."

I kiss his lips longingly, breaking apart before he caves into his desires. "Cato, I just..."

He catches my unease. At once, the alluring sweet-talking Cato allows himself to become that childhood lovable boy I fell in love with.

He rubs his nose against mine. "We'll be alright."

"Are you sure you want to keep studying the occisor? What if it kills you?"

"It won't."

"Do you promise me you'll be more cautious then?"

He kisses me. "I promise everything."

With that vow, the two of us entwine until daylight.

-----

I hope you liked the chapter. What do you think our dear sweet Cato is hiding?

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