"That's all right," Owen rumbled. "I thought I would give these to you early. You might find a use for them before Christmas."
Now I was curious, eagerly so. Fletcher Lane might not have been my blood father, but the old man had passed his rampant sense of curiosity on to me. In fact, it was the one trait that always seemed to get the best of me, no matter how hard I tried to squash it.
Still, I hesitated. "Are you sure you want me to open it? Right now?"
He nodded.
"Okay."
I plucked the fat bow off the box and placed it on top of Owen's head. He playfully grumbled at me, but left the red ribbon where it was, a streamer trailing down each side of his chiseled face. Then I ripped into the snowman-covered wrapping paper, shredding it with my nails. The box was solid and much heavier than I'd thought it would be, and a moment later I realized why. It was actually a silverstone case-the slick, fancy kind that a banker like Finn might use to carry around a large sum of cash.
"Go on," Owen urged. "See what's inside."
I popped the clasps on either side of the case and opened it up. Inside lay a tray of thick black foam-and five silverstone knives. The metal winked at me in the firelight.
"They're beautiful," I said in a low voice.
And they were. The knives were similar in design to the ones that I always carried, but I could tell that these were exquisitely made, even more so than my usual weapons. I plucked one out of the foam, turning it this way and that, getting a feel for the weapon.
Light but strong, thin but sharp, beautiful but deadly. The knife felt like a natural extension of my hand even more than my old, familiar weapons did. It was as though Owen had somehow measured my hand from every conceivable angle and then designed a blade just for me.
The metal winked at me again, and I realized that a symbol had been stamped into the hilt. I peered more closely. I recognized it immediately, of course.
A small circle surrounded by eight thin rays. A spider rune.
My rune. My knives.
"Do you like them?" Owen asked, his violet eyes light and hopeful in his face.
For a moment I couldn't answer him. I was just so touched and slightly stunned by the thoughtfulness of his gift and all the work that had so obviously gone into the knives. Even with Owen's elemental talent for metal, it would have taken him hours, maybe even days, to make each one of the weapons. No one had ever given me something so personal, so perfect before. And the fact that it was Owen who was giving them to me ... Once again, I let myself truly hope that things would be different with us, and that our relationship wouldn't end in disaster like my last one.
"They're perfect," I whispered. "Absolutely perfect. But when did you have time to make them? We've only been ... together a few weeks."
Owen shrugged. "I started thinking about the design a while back when I realized just how much you liked knives."
I stared at the silverstone weapons glinting in the black foam. "And you're giving them to me now, giving them to me early, because of LaFleur, aren't you?"
"I am."
Once again, I stared into Owen's eyes, searching for any sign, any hint, that he was somehow disgusted by my plan to kill LaFleur. That deep down, he simply abhorred who I was and the bloody violence I was so easily capable of dishing out without hesitation or regrets of any kind.
But there was nothing in his gaze but understanding. And I was beginning to think that was all there would ever be. That Owen would never show the disgust and disappointment my previous lover, Detective Donovan Caine, had. That Owen would never leave me as Donovan had because of my being the Spider. However crazy it was, Owen understood me-and he fully accepted what I was and the things I had to do to keep the people I loved safe.
"You know," I said, my voice thick with emotion that I couldn't quite hide. "You didn't have to stay at Jo-Jo's last night. And you didn't have to listen to Finn and me talk about the best way to kill LaFleur this afternoon. If you'd left me there, I would have understood. If you don't want to know anything about what I do when I go out late at night, I would understand that too."
Owen gave me a faint, slightly sad smile. "Still comparing me to Donovan, eh, Gin?"
I shrugged. "I was an assassin for a long time, Owen. I might be retired, but part of me will always be the Spider. Always be ready, willing, and able to do what I have to do, no matter how violent or bloody it is or who I have to hurt in the process. These last few weeks with you have been great. All I'm saying is that I understand if the novelty's worn off and you want to get off the carousel ride now before it kills you."
"I admit that you being an assassin has certainly made things ... interesting," Owen said in an honest voice. "But I also think you're the most fascinating woman I've ever met. Strong, caring, and fiercely loyal to the people that she loves. I'm no choirboy, Gin. And I don't expect you to be one either. I'm a lot of things, but a hypocrite isn't one of them."
He stopped and drew in a breath. "As for the knives, I made them because I knew you would like them. I knew you would use them. And I made them because I wanted you to have the best damn weapons available when you do go after Elektra LaFleur, Mab Monroe, or whoever's on your hit list at the moment. I want you to come back to me, Gin-in one piece. Always. That's why I made the weapons for you. Because if I can't be there, then at least they can. And they're the best damn pieces I've ever made because I made them for you."
I might have been sleeping with Owen for the past few weeks, but I hadn't let him get close to me. Oh, I'd told him all about my past, about the night that Mab had murdered my family, about Fletcher taking me in off the streets and teaching me how to be the assassin the Spider, even about Bria being back in town and all the conflicted feelings I had toward my sister. But I hadn't let him get close to me, hadn't let him have any real piece of my heart.
Maybe it was time to change that.
I put the silverstone knife back in the case, closed the lid, and set it down on the floor beside the bed. Then I threw off the blankets, scooted over to Owen, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pressed my lips to his.
The things I was feeling weren't subtle, weren't safe and small and cautious, and neither was my reaction to Owen. My tongue plunged into his mouth, hot and demanding, even as I crawled up and straddled him, rocking back and forth, telling him exactly what I wanted, exactly what I needed-him. Now. Always.
After a second of hesitation, Owen growled low in his throat and responded in kind, his tongue dueling with mine for control. A minute later, we broke apart, already breathing heavily. But the kiss had done nothing to quench my desire for him. If anything, it had only made my need flare that much brighter, that much hotter. I already felt close to exploding. Or perhaps that was because of everything I was feeling-things I just couldn't put into words. Not now, maybe not ever. But I could show him how I felt-again and again and again.