“It might sting.” Mykal glanced up at Rossi, who placed his fingertips on Myra’s shoulder, his thumb touching the side of her bare neck.
She sighed and closed her eyes.
Bathin exhaled with a little growl.
I glanced at him. His eyes were narrow and he was glaring at Rossi’s hand on Myra like eye contact alone could make it catch on fire.
Rossi looked his way and gave him an unconcerned blink before looking back to Ben.
“Bathin,” I said, “could I speak to you in private?”
“Where you going, Delaney?” Ryder asked.
“Just out on the porch.”
“How about I come along?”
“Not necessary.”
“Not negotiable.”
Bathin folded his arms over his chest. “Not interested.”
“Out,” I said. “Both of you.”
I shoved at Bathin’s shoulder and it was like pushing a boulder. Holy heck, he was solid.
“You don’t want to stay here while your sister bleeds?” he asked me.
“She’s in good hands.” He moved, walking toward the door, his tread a little heavy against the hardwood floor, which made sense if he was as solid as he felt.
Ryder slipped his hand into mine and we followed.
Just before Bathin stepped out the door, Ryder dropped something over my shoulders. It was Ryder’s flannel jacket. The jacket was warm and smelled of him, and I wanted to burrow into it and leave everything behind.
Instead, I stepped out into the quiet night.
Bathin was leaning on the porch rail, smoking a cigarette. It suited him, the cherry fire of the cigarette, the thin waifs of cinnamon scented smoke coming off the tip curling around his wrist before snaking up his arms, the heavy stream of smoke he exhaled through the corner of his mouth.
He looked mysterious and dangerous and pretty much like a demon in man’s clothing. The subjective side of my brain could see he was rocking the whole bad-boy thing big time.
“You want my sister.”
He leaned back and lifted his chin, inhaling smoke again. “And?”
“If you touch her, I will slice your soulless carcass from brain to balls and feed you piece by piece to the angels.”
Ryder’s hand tightened on mine. Maybe surprise, maybe approval.
I didn’t look away from Bathin because I wanted him to understand just how serious I was.
“Poetic,” Bathin noted. “Put it on my birthday cake.”
“You have my soul in your hands. You know I’m not lying. You touch her, you play with her, you make her want you, you hurt her, you make adealwith her, and the very short remaining minutes of your life will be agony.”
Bathin’s nostrils flared as he held in another lungful of smoke.
“You can’t tell me who I can and cannot touch, Delaney Reed,” he rumbled, that whiskey-rough voice of his low. “I am walking this land now, accepted inside of Ordinary, by you. I am the owner of your soul. What I do, is not yours to decide.”
