“I had things under control. I protect you, it’s my job to?—”
“I am not your job, or yours to protect,” I bit out, pain and anger resurfacing again. It never truly left, even when I tried to tell myself I had control over my emotions. I felt bad for him, I did, hounds protected, that’s who they were. But I didn’t need that from him, and he knew that, of course he did, and no matter how hard it was for him to see me fight, that was who I was. Getting in my way all the time was just making things harder for both of us. “I’m older than you, Lothar. I have fought in more battles, have more kills, and possess skills you could only fucking dream of. Do not try to play the protector with me again. I’m not a helpless female. You pull that shit again, you won’t like what happens. We clear?”
His beast was rolling under his skin, his body moving in an odd way. He was fighting the shift. His lips curled back, and his chest vibrated again. “Yeah, we’re clear.” The gold of his eyes shifted to red. “What about before the fighting? Can I pull that shit again, Rox?” he said, a rumbling purr in his voice.
I sucked in a sharp breath and my anger shot higher. “You kiss me again, I’ll cut out your fucking tongue,” I fired at him and started walking. I could not think about what happened under that tree—how right it felt, how wonderful it was to be close to him like that, to have his arms around me. It couldn’t happen again. I couldn’t let it.
He strode up beside me, still naked. “You didn’t seem to have any complaints when it was happening.”
His voice had gone impossibly deep. I forced myself to glance at him. “I was curious.”
“And?”
“Once was enough.”
He scowled. “Bullshit.”
What the fuck was happening? Even more concerning, what did Lothar think was happening? No, he had no memory of our past, but he was clearly feeling a certain type of way toward me, and that was much more dangerous than just me pining after him, stuck for centuries in this agonizing cycle of unrequited love and unbearable pain and anger. I was strong, I could take it, I had been taking it for a long fucking time, but I wasn’t sure how long I could resist him, especially if he decided to put all his effort into getting what he wanted.
“You kissed me back, Rox, and you fucking liked it,” he muttered.
“Not enough to repeat the experience,” I lied, even as my belly swooped and heated. “Now shut up about the damned kiss, and let’s get the hell out of here. There’s a small village a few miles away. We can clean up and ask around, see if anyone’s seen B. They have an inn beside the tavern.” I glanced his way again. “You might want to put some pants on before we get there.”
“We only have one room available,” the birdlike innkeeper said, looking down her long nose at us. Not surprising since we were both covered in mud and blood. On the plus side, we didn’t look very appetizing.
“Are you sure you don’t have another room?” I asked with a good dose of desperation in my voice.
Lothar snorted. “Afraid you can’t keep your hands to yourself?”
My face heated, because, yes, that was exactly what I was afraid of.
“Yes, I’m sure,” the innkeeper said, her answer more than a little snappish. She gave us another unhappy perusal. “We don’t want any trouble here.”
“You won’t get any trouble from us. We’re just passing through.” I slid my phone from my pocket and pulled up a picture of Beelzebub. “We’re actually looking for a friend of ours. You haven’t seen him around the village, have you?” I held up the picture of B. I’d taken it several months ago at Nixie’s birthday party. The lords had been invited, like they were to all handmaid parties, and he’d rolled up with Asmodeus.
She leaned in, scanned the picture, shook her head, then tossed the room key on the counter like she wanted to avoid touching either of us, and again I got it. We were disgusting. “Room 13, top of the stairs, fourth door on the right.”
I thanked her, and we trudged up the stairs. Lothar was in front of me, and I winced at the sight of the gouges in his back. Most had already healed, trapping mud, rotting leaves, and whatever other filth was on that creature’s claws under his skin.
“Your back’s a mess. I’m going to have to reopen those wounds to flush them out,” I said as we reached the top of the stairs.
“You’d just love that, wouldn’t you?” he said, a smirk on his handsome face, his eyes darkening. “Getting to carve me up with one of those pointy little blades of yours.”
How the hell had he made that sound sexual? Heat washed over me as we reached the door to our room, and I quickly pushed in front of him, giving him my back so I could unlock the door. But then, it wasn’t what he’d said but how he’d said it. I knew all too well how Lothar sounded when he was in the mood to get frisky. “It’d be a dream come true,” I said deadpan as I shoved the door open.
The room was a floral explosion, or nightmare, depending on your tastes, but it smelled fresh, and I knew from my last stay here that all the rooms were kept to a high standard of cleanliness.
Studiously ignoring the chintz-covered bed overflowing with throw pillows, I dumped my bag on the luggage stand against the wall, kicked off my boots, and rummaged around for clean clothes. “I’m taking first shower, then we’ll deal with your back. Put our boots outside the door, would you? They have a service for that here since this realm is a muddy cesspool.”
He grunted, and I didn’t give him a chance to say more. I quickly hit the bathroom and locked myself in.
Clumps of mud fell out of my hair when I dipped my head under the hot spray. I had to wash it three times to get all the crap out of it. As much as I was enjoying the hot water and the break from Lothar, I didn’t drag it out. I needed to see to his back. The longer we left it, the deeper I’d have to cut and the more painful it was going to be for him.
As I was drying off, I glanced up and caught sight of myself. My skin was bruised. There was a big one on my shoulder, and when I turned, there were more across my back, and my thighs as well. No doubt from being tossed into a tree, then pinned under that creature. That was an hour ago, though. I should be healed by now.
My gaze dipped to my side, to my scar, and I sucked in a breath. It was pink, irritated. That was not normal.
It had taken years for the wound to heal, but it had. This morning, it had been pale, silvery—now it looked like something had aggravated it. The mud? The creature? Maybe I was having an allergic reaction of some kind to one of them?
