“She’ll need to be,” Bam says.
Another beat of silence. This one is softer.
Rhett stands, stretching his arms overhead, then heads for the door. “If you need anything, call.” He looks at me for half a second, then at Colton. “Take care of her, yeah?”
“Of course, idiot. Now if you all could leave so I can take care of my woodland bride,” Colton snorts.
Bam chuckles as they all file out, their footsteps heavy on the wood floor. For a minute, it’s just the sound of the fridge cycling and the tick of the ancient wall clock.
Then Colton moves.
He crosses the room and stands in front of me, eyes on my face. The burning need is gone, replaced by something I don’t have a name for. He reaches up and touches the cut on my cheek, thumb brushing away a smear of dried blood.
“You’re cold,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
He snorts. “Mhmm, sure.”
He scoops me up—just lifts me like it’s nothing—and carries me to his bathroom. The tub is old, clawfoot, probably original to the building. He sets me down on the edge, then turns on the water, testing the temperature with his wrist.
He’s gentle. It’s endearing and shocking at the same time. This man made of violence and quiet calculation, running me bath water.
“You are going to rest,” he says. “It’s over now, so I don’t want you running scenarios through your head.”
I shake my head. “It’s never over.”
He kneels in front of me, hands on my knees. His gaze is level, unwavering. “For now, it is. You won.”
“Did I?”
He looks at me like I’m the only thing left in the world. “You’re here. That’s all that matters. Everything will right itself once I call Caius and get a status update.”
I want to believe him. I want to let this be enough.
But my skin is on fire, and the water hisses, and the taste of fear and heady desire is still in my mouth.
He takes my hands, one at a time, and inspects the damage. The cut from the ritual is still oozing, but the rest are just surface. He cleans them with a washcloth, then dabs at my knees and thighs, tracing every bruise like it’s a secret.
Kissing my hand, he just looks at me for a moment before getting up and opening a cabinet. He lines up everything he’s going to use. Soaps. Antibacterial ointment. Gauze pads, tape, a roll of Ace bandages. There’s even a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, label half-peeled, and a pair of scissors with the safety tips worn dull. He sets it all out on the counter, then grabs a towel from the stack and snaps it open, laying it flat on the tile floor.
Colton turns to face me and just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter behind him. “Strip,” he says, and his voice is so deadpan I almost laugh.
Instead I say, “You first.”
He shrugs, then takes his shirt off before he pulls his sweats down, leaving them in a puddle. He’s naked, and he doesn’t careif I look. I do, because I can’t not. His body is a study in some fucking ancient sculpture of perfection.
A bit scarred, a bit bruised, but every tight line, every muscular bulge… my eyes wander lower and a blush creeps over my cheeks when I remember I was just impaled on that monster not even three hours ago.
He gestures with his chin. “Your turn.”
Working my arms out of the sleeves, I let the dress drop, then step out of it. My skin is a patchwork of dirt, grass stains, scrapes, and the biggest bruise I’ve ever seen, blooming purple down my right thigh. I’m ashamed for a split second, until I see the way Colton’s eyes go soft when he takes it all in.
He pulls me up, hands on my hips, and lifts me into the tub before I can protest. The water is scalding, but I don’t make a sound. It takes a minute for my skin to adjust, turning bright red, but then it feels soothing.
Calming.
He sits on the edge, and starts working on my wounds. He finds the worst scratch on my shin and cleans it first, dabbing with a washcloth, then using a cotton pad soaked in peroxide. It stings, but he doesn’t warn me or ask if it hurts. I hiss, but he doesn’t let up.
