He got a small towel from the shelf and dampened part of it before he went after her. He found her downstairs seated on the stone step of the fireplace.
She looked up as he approached, pale beneath her normally luscious, tan skin. Her red-rimmed eyes revealed the tears she’d shed. His stomach did several shaky flops as if acid were corroding his insides. Kira always had an opinion or a biting comeback—the latter mostly because he instigated it. Now, she remained quiet, and it gnawed at him like a throbbing wound.
Hell, he should have just stuck to the plan, not give into his damn desire to be with her. And because of him, she’d been viciously injured.
Jaw clenched, he sat next to her, set the first-aid box on the floor and the towel on his lap. He unscrewed the potion bottle and the pungent odor of moss or decaying leaves flooded their air space. And it tasted like shit. He ought to know. “Here. Drink this. It’ll speed up the healing.”
She shook her head and reared back. “Nuh-uh! I’m not taking that. Do you know what Gran puts in there?”
“Don’t care. It does the job.” He grasped her jaw.
“For heaven’s sake—” She shoved his hand away, swiped the bottle, and tilted it to her mouth, gulping down the thick sludge. “God!It tastes every bit as vile as it smells,” she moaned, looking a little green in the mouth as if she would puke. She thrust the bottle back into his hand. “There. Happy now?”
“As long as it heals you. Turn around. I’ll patch up the wound, and you’ll soon be good as new.” He hoped.
A feminine snort left her, but she shifted, giving him her back. At the sight of the bloody slashes marring her delicate skin, anger swept through him again, fear fast on its heels. The bastard could have marked her, too.
“Hey…” At her soft voice, Týr lifted his gaze and found her watching him over her shoulder. “It’s not like I’m dying or anything, you know. I’m okay.”
He ignored her attempt to lighten his mood. “Then why were you crying?”
“Uh…well, it hurt really bad beneath the water.”
Mouth clamped tight, he gently dabbed the wounds. Despite his tender attempts, Kira’s shoulders tensed. Carefully, he let his fingertips brush the unmarred skin surrounding the lesions, trying to ease her. So soft. Something inside him ached to hold her, comfort her…wishing he had that right. He didn’t, and that fucking tore at him. He finally applied the mossy-smelling goo over the gashes.
Her shoulders rose and fell as she exhaled a shaky breath. “It doesn’t hurt so much now. Thank you.”
“This never should have happened. I shouldn’t have taken you with me.” Anger at himself burned deep as he cleaned up the bloody smears on her skin with the damp towel and then tossed it aside.
“Really?” That hazel stare swung back to him. “You couldn’t have stopped me, so don’t beat yourself up about it.” Her gaze lowered to his jaw. Her brow creased. She twisted around and lifted a hand to gently touch his wound—a caress he felt all the way to that hollow organ in his chest still pumping blood.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m fine.” His voice sounded like it belonged to another, all raspy and shit.
“Uh-huh…” she murmured, the sound thick with disbelief. She reached for the bottle of ointment, but Týr grasped her wrist and shook his head.
“Why? I’m guessing the same thing hurt you, so Gran’s potion should help.”
He didn’t want this injury cured. If this lesion were a tracking device, he wanted the bastard to find him. He’d make the fucker long for death for dare coming after him, and he’d learned how in the most gruesome ways while trapped in that hellhole, Tartarus. He settled for, “I don’t want it healed for now.”
Lines marring her smooth brow, she removed her hand, depriving him of even that small touch. She fingered the rips in his sweater. “Another wound you don’t want healed?”
The new injuries were mere scratches compared to hers. “It’s nothing.”
Her expression tightened at his offhanded reply. “Is that so?” A flush of irritation reddened her cheeks, and she dropped her hand. “Why do all you Guardians behave like dunderheads when hurt?”
“Dunderheads?” He arched a brow, amused now.
She wasn’t.
“You freak out when I’m bleeding, but you force me to watch while you’re hurt. How is that fair?” she demanded.
He didn’t speak, couldn’t. He forgot his injury, forgot that she was mad at him, completely caught in her spell. Those gorgeous eyes burned bright in annoyance but were edged with anxiety, too. She worried about him.
Get your shit together, man, she worries about everyone else, too.The reminder struck him hard, but it was the absolute truth. Kira cared. About Tomas. About Shadow. She’d even jumped through a portal into the Dark Realm with them to rescue Echo.
This is who she is.
Hell, he wished he could shut off these damn feelings squeezing his chest. Being this close and keeping his gaze—and hands—off her was fucking hard to do. And trying to remember she was not only the Oracle’s granddaughter, but human and forbidden was rapidly fading from his mind.
