Layla forced her eyes open, or at least so far as she could. The swelling on her face was now having a heyday, and everyother bump, bruise, and scrape took the slight movement as permission to make themselves known.
Loudly. In fact, the sudden symphonic crash of physical misery was so intense she inhaled sharply too, as if copying him.
The vampire paused, holding her braced on one raised knee. His curls still looked designer-tousled despite being wildly windblown, and the only evidence of the night’s events was his sweater and Carhartts both torn all to flinders. Same dark eyes, only this time with no glaring red dots in the pupils, and there was no sign of the fangs. He had one booted foot on the edge of a giant cast-iron bathtub, and had finished peeling the dress off her.
Oh, for Chrissake. Now she was completely defenseless; not that it mattered. Just business as usual.
“Warm water,” he said. “It may sting. Test it.”
This was no weirder than anything else that had happened to her lately, and her face was so messed-up the fiery blush rising up her neck might not be evident. The bathroom fixings were the half-antique sturdy type any Pottery Barn catalog would be interested in copying, from the pedestal sink to the ancient commode with its water tank attached to the wall, a chain dangling gently for flushing.
Was he going to drown her in the tub? The vampire shifted, and her toes tapped the rising water. Blessedly hot, very nearly perfect.
It was indeed going to sting. Layla nodded and braced herself, stretching her leg so she could slither out of his grip. If she got in the tub herself, maybe he wouldn’t hold her head under.
That makes no sense.
Her attempt didn’t work. He kept a good grip and lowered her gently, making a small clicking noise with his tongue as if to a frightened animal.
Layla blinked back tears. “It’s fine.” Her voice cracked.It’s all fine, I can take it. Just let me sit down for a minute.
“Very well.” Max gave her a considering look, as if suspecting a fib or outright whopper, and pushed gently at her shoulders until she huddled in the very center of the nearly full tub.
Nasty scrapes and ripening bruises paraded up and down her legs, but if she hugged her knees the ache didn’t seem so bad. Her back was a solid metal bar of pain, her neck throbbed, her fingers were swollen. Even her hair hurt. The vampire moved away, but only a few steps. Layla gingerly settled her wounded face against her knees.
Okay, take a breath. Think about what to do next if he’s not going to drown?—
A splash, a wave of warmth, and the water level rose dangerously close to the rim as a much larger body settled behind her. Not only that, but heavy muscular legs were suddenly to either side, pressed against the tub’s borders. His toes looked human enough, and so did his knees; that was weird. Stranger still was his arms curling around her, and Layla swallowed a yelp as she was drawn back.
There was no way to avoid being draped over his chest, and zero chance of ignoring the evidence of arousal pressed against the small of her back. Well, he’d had a fight; according to the hunters, what came afterward was a fuck. Even Shawn’s guys went to the bars looking for companionship after an operation or practice—and to confession as well, if they could find a cathedral of the proper type.
Oh, jeez. She just hoped whatever he’d do, it would be quick. And that she could catch a nap afterward.
Sleep soundedgreat. Even, perhapsespeciallyif she never woke up again.
The vampire brushed at her tangled, sweat- and steam-damp hair. “Tilt your head back.” His voice rumbled against her back, and she suppressed a shiver.
I don’t want to. But she’d said she would cooperate; if she didn’t, would he find Pete again and do something horrible? It didn’t seem outside his abilities at all.
Her chin tipped up. The back of her head fit almost exactly in the hollow between his shoulder and collarbone. It was even… restful, she supposed, and her tired muscles all let go at once. “Are you going to hurt me?” She sounded very small and very frightened, even to herself.
“No.” His hand paused. He shifted slightly; it was almost,almostsoothing to be held, buoyed by warm water and enclosed by someone so much taller, broader, stronger. “I remember this was pleasant enough, in its own way.”
Something pushed against her lips. Startled, Layla tensed, but the edge of his wrist was under her top teeth, and a warm numbness filled her mouth. His other arm had snaked across her bare chest, pinning her shoulders, and even as she tried to pull away she realized what the fluid had to be, what he was doing.
She had no choice but to swallow.
A hot smooth hit like good tequila though lacking any alcohol sting, and the liquid seemed vanish halfway down her throat. Another gulp followed; Layla was caught between struggling and the promise to cooperate, between utter exhaustion and the consciousness offucking vampire bloodtrickling down her chin, burrowing into her esophagus.
Then the heat dilated, a soft irresistible scorch eating all physical pain. A smooth burn like expensive whiskey on anempty stomach, hazy cotton filling her skull, and she was floating.
Wow.A slow, dazed thought. Like the headrush after taking four shots and sliding off a barstool to hit the dance floor, like the first draw of really good weed through a freshly cleaned bong. She’d never done anything harder; this left both spendy booze and Humboldt Gold in the dust.
Now it tasted like the tangerines Meemaw Cathy brought home sometimes after her monthly check, bought from the roadside stand at the southern edge of town. Always child-Layla’s favorite things; she could just about eat herself sick on small sweet-tangy fruit. Then it changed, between one mouthful and the next, into a bang-on taste of her grandmother’s famous chow-chow with the spicy, peppery edge nobody else on earth could make, filling her eyes with tears and making her poor scratched-up broken heart leap as if so many years could be erased and she could hug Meemaw again.
That’s my girl, her grandmother would say, and for a moment all would be right in the world.
The persistent scratching in her throat was soothed, the deep unpleasant rumble-pain of bruising retreated. For the first time in what felt like years a sense of complete physical wellbeing poured through Layla, all discomfort vanishing along with the constant torment of anxious uncertainty. It kept changing, from just-baked dinner rolls to dark clover honey, from tea sandwiches to sweet tea itself—good things,wonderfultastes meaning comfort, safety, a refuge from all fear.
