Damn. His self-control is absolute. It always was. The memory of his younger voice rips through me…May I have your permission?
My shoulders sink. I ignore my robe and all the skin I’m revealing. It’s all ugly bruises anyway. “I can’t explain. I wish I could.”
“Then…” He sidesteps me, swings the door open, but pauses in the doorway, filling it with his big body. He’s suddenly frozen there, half-turned, the black thread from the new stitches showing through his white shirt like crisscrossing tracks across his back. One hand flexes against the door frame.
Please stay.I take the chance to give it one last try. I swallow my pride, knowing that I’m not above begging. But only this once. “Please, Baelen, take my hand. I’ll never ask you for anything else. Just this. Please.”
“No.”
Stubborn male!
I inhale a scream of frustration. There aren’t enough glares in the world to hurl at his disappearing back. Even if his back is so broken that it breaks my heart to see it. My bedroom door clicks and then he’s gone.
I’ve had enough. I’ve been grabbed at, beaten up, accosted, pushed around, backed into a corner, and every male except the one I want is trying to get his hands on me. Literally.
Stupid trials!I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look far too small without my storm suit or my armor on. Far too vulnerable.
Stupid mirror, stupid bruises, stupid bath, stupid robe…I scream. “Stupid self-control!”
I rip off the robe, hurl it to the floor, and stomp on it. Not a great idea when my body’s still sore and aching. The impact shudders through my calf and up my thigh. “Ouch.”
I drop to the floor, dragging the robe around me as Jordan races into the room. She takes one look at me curled up on the floor and goes into attack mode.
“What did he do?” She looks fit to run after him and pummel him herself.
“Nothing. He didn’t do anything.” I rest my head against the edge of the bath, pushing my hair out of my eyes, pretending I don’t have tears in them. “Nothing at all.”
