“The fuck? Why am I so wet?”
Seth tips his head back and laughs, but I’m already rising, pissing, and dancing all around them. Jude shoots his head up as my piss splashes all of them, and Rory scrambles off the bed, belting out a string of thick Gaelic curses. Not even Vincent is safe at the end of the bed when I pounce and finish letting the rest out right on the side of his body.
“Jesus, fuck!” he wakes, jerking up straight, only to see me naked and crouching with the remaining pee dripping down my thighs.
“Just following thegoldenrule, boys.” I blow them all a kiss and hop down from the bed, winching while they watch me in a stunned, jaw-dropping silence.
Raphael stands against the nearby wall. Naked and unashamed, I waltz right up to him and give him a feminine glare before scurrying toward the bathroom to wash up.
“Golden rule?!” Rory growls, glaring right at me with drops of my piss rolling down his cheek. “I swear to Christ, I’m gonna wring you out like a fucking bar rag!”
I set my hands on my hips, grinning at him. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Well, buckle up, boys. Because even hell will fall to its knees because of this woman. You wanted me to join you, Gods? I’m your Goddess now. And I’m coming for you.”
The second he charges for me, Seth and Vincent both take him down, wrestling him to the floor. Spinning around, I give my welted ass a little smack of a taunt, open the bathroom door, and disappear inside, fully intending to use all the hot water.
I smellhim before I see him, before I feel him. A dark masculine musk, gentleman’s cologne of wood and copper…well, beneath the urine.
A gasp leaves my throat when Jude slips into the shower behind me, cupping my shoulders, caressing them.
“Need to check your stitches, Babydoll,” he murmurs, lowering his head and touching his full lips to the side of my head.
At first, I want to tell him to fuck off. Not to touch me. I shouldn’t want any of their hands on me. But Jude is…different. Deep inside, I know he means well. Hippocratic oath and all that.
“Thank you for the plastic wrap,” I gesture to the wrapping around my back he must have done while I was asleep.
“My pleasure.” His voice is the deepest, followed by Raphael, and it surges liquid flames in my belly.
When he touches the brand on my ass, I hiss, hips jerking away, but he wraps a strong hand around me, anchoring his palm beneath my breasts. Slowly, softly, he lures me closer until my back hits his lower chest. That’s how short I am compared to him. He still scares the hell out of me, but I still feel safer with him.
“I’ll need to put some salve on the brand after you get out. And I can give you something for the pa?—”
“No.”
My tone was sharper than I meant, so I lean back against him and softly add, “Do you have any essential oils?”
“A few.”
“Helichrysum?” I chew on my lower lip, not getting my hopes up.
“No. The basics. Lavender, peppermint, frankincense.”
“I can work with that.”
I have more of what I need back at my cottage. Literally a cottage I bought on the edge of the nearest small town. I was in the middle of redecorating my plant room when Joah found me at the Halloween festival. Sadness strains my chest when I remember how hard I worked on my costume. God, something must be wrong with me when I’m more upset by that than everything they did to me.
Fuck, I have to get out of here. Stockholm Syndrome must be setting in. A voice in the corner of my mind nags me. Because if Joah found me, it means Alden must know. And if Alden knows…
They can protect you,the voice says.Theywillprotect you—with everything they are.
The twisted part of me wants to believe it. But the rational side knows they could discard me any time they want to. If Idon’t play their games, if I rebel too much, my bones could easily join the others in the pit. They’ll eventually get tired, fed up with me. And the real me is too fucked up for them to handle, much less want.
I’ll figure it out. Like I always do.
Jude touches my hair. I flinch as his hands comb through my wet curls, lathering shampoo into the strands.
“What are you—I don’t—oh, good god almighty!” I forget my protests when he softly rakes his fingers into my scalp. I’m convinced he must have been a massage therapist in another life. Or maybe before the whole army medic.
A soft snort of amusement hums in his throat. “Raphael is the hunter. Rory is the cook. Seth is the fix-it guy and the builder. Vincent is the livestock caretaker. And I’m?—”
