“I—” I stare down at the delicate, pale hands, so different from my normal pebbled flesh. “The world likes me like this.”
You’ll like me like this, I can’t help adding silently.
“But this is hurting you. You’re in pain.” Mahon’s massive palm cradles my wrist, where the skin around the paper has darkened in anger at the offending object.
“Not bad.”
The witch compared the initial discomfort to a sunburn. Having never had a sunburn before, I had to take her word for it, but now, I wonder why humans don’t constantly coat their entire bodies in SPF 150.
“She said the pain would get worse after an hour.” Skin bubbling. Acid in my veins. All that fun stuff.
“Please, Satine. I don’t understand.” A growl rumbles from his chest. “Do you need to go somewhere in town? Interact with humans?”
“No,” I admit. “Not today.”
“Then, why? Why do this?”
Mahon’s eyes haven’t left my wrist, all his focus on that tiny patch of discomfort. He’s not admiring my smooth skin or my soft curves. He’s not commenting on my silky, long burgundy hair. He hasn’t gazed into my eyes with their green irises and normal pupils.
All he cares about is the pain.
My pain.
And that itself is a balm.
“Do you care?”
Mahon dips his head to blow on my wrist, as if he could soothe the flushed skin like one would cool off a too-hot slice of pizza.
“Care about what?” He mutters the words in a distracted manner. “Can we put ice on this?”
“Do you care what I look like?” I ask, ignoring his second question.
That finally has him glancing up to meet my searching stare. “I only care that I get to see you.”
My insides, the most human part of me, fracture and reform at his simple statement.
Over the years, I’ve found small ways to love myself on my own. But I’ve never admitted how fragile those discoveries were. That I fear the rest of the world could pulverize my hard-won self-assurance.
And here is this man. And he is everything good I never let myself hope existed in the world.
“I shouldn’t have put the patch on,” I say. “I have them for emergencies. If someone I don’t know comes to my house or if Ineed to go somewhere that humans will see me.” Shoring up my courage, I stand taller. “I thought you might like to see me like this.”
Mahon’s brows dip low. “But I can’t see you. All I see is the witch’s glamour.”
His grip might appear to be about my wrist, but I’m certain the shifter has found a way to plunge past my rib cage and cradle my heart.
“You’re right. I want to take it off.”
“Do you need help?” There’s a trembling in his big hand, as if he’s holding himself back from tearing the magic off himself.
“No. But there are some more side effects when I remove it. We should go inside.” Stepping away from his comforting presence, I push the front door open and try not to think too much about what’s coming next. “There’s food in my fridge and cabinets. Help yourself. I’m going to need fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes.”
“What are the rest of the side effects?”
Of course the pushy bear would ask that, following me toward the bathroom rather than staying in the kitchen, like I directed.
“Some indigestion. Nothing to worry about.”
