“You did what you had to,” I shrug, standing to lead her toward her room.
“No.”
“No?” I ask as we ascend the stairs, not understanding what she means by no.
“I killed him because I wanted him dead, even if it meant I went with him,” she attempts to wipe the tears from her face with her bandaged hand before growling in fury and switching to the other.
My heart ceases beating, “What happened in there, Belissenda? What did they do to you?”
“You know. You felt everything they did to me,” she adds with a humorless laugh, “Alastor made thatveryclear.”
“Is Alastor the one you killed or the one who held you?” I ask, hoping her cruelest torturer is already gone from this world.
“The mouthy asshole with the gun. The other guy was just a pet with anger issues,” she answers, voice shaking with fury and terror. Knowing we left her tormentor alive makes my skin itch, every part of me begging to return and tear him to shreds.
Walking through the bathroom door, she begins tearing at the clothing left on her, unable to remove them with only one functional hand. Her frustration grows, turning her movements more shaky and frantic before she gives up, stepping into the shower and turning on the water while still clothed.
Truthfully, I don’t know how to help her. I want to give her the space she needs to heal, but she can’t take care of herself like this. I’m almost certain her stitches and bandage must stay dry, though Eamon didn’t say.
“Can I help you, my Dove?” I plead, hoping for both of our sakes she’s not so furious with me that she won’t allow me to.
The dejected look gracing her features as she nods wounds me more than any rage coming from her ever could. I slowly strip down to my underwear and clamber in behind her, “I’m going to take these horrible things off now, okay?” She sniffles again and nods, so I allow a claw to poke out and cut the back of the strange garments before peeling them from her wet body.
With great difficulty, due to the dampness of them, I burn them to cinders and let the ashes wash down the drain. Bel’s sobs drown out the sound of the shower as we watch the last piece of their torture vanish into nothing. She needs to get cleaned up, but that can wait a moment. I pull her close to me, wrapping both arms around her, one cupping the back of her head against my chest.
She allows me to cradle her against me as she cries for what seems like an eternity. Every sniffle and sob shakes her body until it eventually calms. She takes a deep breath, pulling away and looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. I don’t quite know how to comfort someone like this, but I’ll do whatever I must for her. Without tearing my gaze from hers, I reach for her shampoo and lather it into her red locks. She watches my face while I try to focus on my work, using the detachable head to rinse the suds from her.
The conditioner is more of a mystery, and she shyly smiles, taking it from me instead of letting me do it. As she works it through the ends of her hair, struggling with the usage of only one hand, that familiar sweet almond scent finally overpowers the stench of that horrible place. I grab a loofah and rub her body wash into her arms, across her collarbones and stomach, her back and legs, ensuring I don’t take any liberties with her nude form.
“Caspian,” she tells me suddenly, taking the item from me, “I need you.”
“I don’t understand, my Dove. I’m right here. You have me,” I assure her, “You will always have me.”
She laughs, “No. Ineedyou,” she reiterates, wrapping her unbound hand around the back of my neck and pulling me in for a kiss. When I pull away for a breath, she whispers, “I need to have you. To feel you. To know I’m really here and not still—there.”
I trace her body with my eyes, the evidence of her need becoming more apparent with every moment we stand so close in the steaming shower. “We can’t,” I tell her. “You’re hurt. You are not in a place to be doing that.” Though surrounded by her intoxicating scent, my body begs me to reconsider.
She pouts, rinsing the sweet-smelling conditioner from her hair, “Fine. I’ll have Fritz do it, then.” While I don’tactuallyhave any issues with that idea, she sure seems to think my possessiveness is the way to get what she wants.
It is.
With a growl, I lift her up over my shoulder. She shrieks out her laughter, kicking and pounding a fist on my back, not unlike how she fought me earlier, though infinitely more fun. Sauntering into her room, I gently lay her, still soaking wet, on the bedding and climb atop her. Before I slide into her perfection, I must take one last moment to confess.
“I love you, too, my Dove.”
Her eyes water, and her lips quiver at the sentiment, leaving me hoping the only tears I ever see of hers are like these. Filled with joy and adoration. She lifts herself enough to kiss me again, drowning me in her.
Then we’re lost to the sweet oblivion of each other until the only sobs she can utter are from the overwhelming pleasure.
Drown It In Tequila
Fritz
When Isla and I return to the apartment, it’s to the symphony of Bel and Caspian’sveryloud love-making. While I generally dislike that term, it’s the only phrase that makes sense for the devotion he’s showing her.
Isla’s eyes widen, and she covers her ears, shrieking, “No! No! I don’t wanna hear this.”
I release peals of laughter, setting the food on the table in the kitchen, “Hey, at least you know she’s feeling better. I was worried she was going to wake up still ready to go commit murder.” I turn on the little speaker sitting on the counter, letting some local radio station drown out Bel’s moans, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. “From the sounds of it, they’re probably almost done.”
