Accepting my fate, I let him lift me over the threshold and carry me to the couch.He makes sure to lay me down across the seat cushions so I can rest my ankle on the couch arm.
“There’s really no need to?—”
He’s already in the kitchen.I hear can-opening noises.Oh, darn.I forgot to feed poor Muohta—the dog who saved my life.Then I hear the faucet go on, closely followed by dog lapping sounds.Of course, I forgot to put out a bowl of water for him, too.
The stank of canned fish fills the room as Muohta gobbles his supper.Dante shouts.“You want a beer?Or some tea?Soup?”
The man must be a mind reader.“Soup, please.Thank you.”
More can-opening noises and then the click of the gas stovetop as it ignites.Dante comes back into the living room with a glass of water and hands it to me.
“Do you know where Tempest kept her aspirin?”he asks me.
Okay, so maybe they weren’t lovers then.
Draining the glass, I put it on the rug next to the couch.“I brought a first aid kit with me.It’s in the car.”
Lacing his fingers together, Dante bends his hands with the palms facing outwards to stretch them.The man must be flexible as hell, because there are no joints clicking when he does this.
Making himself at home, he pulls a high-backed armchair closer before sitting down.
This allows me to get my first full uninterrupted view of the man’s face and hands now that he’s removed the leather gloves.
The barrage of information I’m getting is contradictory.
He is so pale; those parts of his face that aren’t covered by hair look washed out from lack of sun.I’m a redhead, so I know everything there is to know about unpigmented skin.But he’s not sick or addicted.His body is far too well-developed for that to be a possibility.
Maybe he just seems pale because of the contrast between his hair and skin?Under the artificial light in the living room, Dante has that matte black hair color that suggests either artificial dye or foreign ancestry.It hangs down the sides of his face in a thick curtain, obscuring his forehead and even the outer corners of his eyes.Those eyes must be sensitive to light.The pupils are tiny black pin pricks amidst a sea of deep blue.They are the kind of eyes that make a woman want to throw herself into their ocean.
A hint of scimitar-shaped cheekbones rise on either side of his high-bridged nose.His nostrils flare as he inhales and sighs.
“Let’s get that boot off, shall we?”He stands in one fluid motion.There is no gripping the chair arms to leverage himself up.Two strides and he’s at my feet.
My expectations of a grungy, dirty biker are dashed as I look down at the long, elegant fingers touching my boot.
“May I?”he says, pointing to my foot.
Nodding my head and clenching my teeth, I brace myself for pain.
ChapterSix
Dante
Even under the soft glow of yellow light, the image of myself that I wish to present to Luna holds.I see her inspecting me as I loosen the laces of her boot.It’s a painstaking business, because I don’t want to jolt the ankle.
The sock is going to pull off with the boot.Slowly, inch by inch, Luna’s foot is freed.
Tempest’s niece is brave.She gives a stifled squeak of pain and shock as we get our first look at the damage.
The ankle’s a mess.Black and blue with bruising, and stipples of congealed blood lie under her translucent skin.Her high-top boot and thick woolen sock saved her flesh from the trap’s rusted maw.
For one glorious moment, I feel her pulse beating steadily through her veins before I step back and give Luna her space.
The omnipresent hunger whispers in my ear.You got your invitation—time to take advantage of it.
But I have so many questions I need to ask Luna, so I have no trouble suppressing my instincts.
Running my fingertip over the top of her toes, I ask her if she can feel that.Biting back a sob, she tells me no.
