He placed me on the tub ledge and then leaned over me, turning on the tap. Water poured from the faucet. His gaze returned to mine. “Stay there.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“What if I make you?” he countered, going where the towels were.
“I’d like to see you try.”
“I actually don’t.” He returned, dipping the hand towel under the water. “With as exhausted as you are, it wouldn’t be much fun.”
I snorted at that.
Casteel was quiet as he picked up my hand and washed away the blood that had dried there. He cleaned both as I watched him, his brows furrowed in concentration as he checked between my fingers.
“I know you’re annoyed with me,” he said once he’d finished. “But I’m not going to allow you to put yourself into stasis again.”
I started to deny that being a possibility, but when he looked pointedly at my trembling arms, I sighed.
“I know you want to help people,” he said, tossing the soiled linen into a basket before making quick work of the hooks on my vest. “I understand that it is an instinctual need. But you also have to look out for yourself.”
“I know,” I whispered, letting my forehead fall onto his shoulder, breathing in his scent. “Do you know how many were killed?” I asked.
“Other than those in the warehouse?” He peeled the vest aside and let it fall to the floor. “Malik said there were about twenty found among the debris. All mortal.”
I closed my eyes. “So far?”
“So far.” He curved his hand around the back of my head and gently pulled me back. His lips brushed my forehead. “Arms up.”
I wearily lifted them.
He tugged off the blouse that smelled of blood and…dead ceeren. “That is less than I expected.”
It was.
“Stand for me, my Queen.”
I dragged myself to my feet.
Casteel tugged my leggings and undergarments down. I placed a hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I stepped out of the dirty clothing.
Thank the gods I hadn’t kept the pretty tunic on.
“I don’t think you’ve ever removed my clothing so…clinically before.”
Casteel let out a low chuckle. “You think I don’t feel anything while undressing you?”
Before I could respond, he took my hand and pressed it to his groin. My breath caught as I felt him through his breeches. He was hard and thick, straining against my palm.
“Does that change your mind?” he asked.
“A little.”
“A little,” he scoffed, pulling my hand away. “That is the wrong word choice when your hand is on my cock.”
I laughed, and it sounded weird in the bathing chamber, especially after everything that had happened. But the laugh brought a faint smile to his lips and softened the harsher lines of his features.
“You’re going to get cleaned up. Then, I’m going to feed you,” he said, straightening. “And then you will sleep.”
“What happened to fucking?” I asked.
