At his quiet comment, she blinked, not certain if she’d heard right. But meeting his determined stare, a shiver of apprehension trickled down her spine. Bone-deep, the knowledge stirred, this was a reprieve. He wasn’t letting it go.
Kira understood exactly how a cornered mouse felt, except he was no darn cat, but a lion…stalking prey.
“Turn around, Kira.”
His commanding tone had her instantly obeying. Ugh. She scrubbed her tired face.
He scooped her hair away, his fingers brushing against her skin. Desire swam like molasses through her veins. Kira bit back a moan, her fingers fisting her towel as he applied more salve to her shoulder blade, grateful that he couldn’t see her face.
Finally, he taped on a dressing. “There. It should keep your hair away from your injuries. And Kira…we’re not done yet. Not by a long shot.”
His promise coasted along her nape. Her heart slammed in panic against her ribs.
And, as if he hadn’t just said anything life-altering, he calmly dropped the tape back into the box—and then went utterly motionless, his eyes narrowing. Like the dangerous animal she always thought him, Týr prowled to the huge window showcasing the snowy night. A detached lethal quality underscored his stance as he scrutinized the outdoors.
Despite her emotions bouncing all over the place, unease crept through her at the sudden change in him. She hurried over. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Here.” His obsidian dagger materialized in his palm. He handed her the weapon. “Use it. It will immobilize an immortal if not taken out of their body. And they can’t remove it.” He opened the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t leave the cabin, not for anything.” The wooden slab slammed shut behind him.
A shiver skating down her spine, Kira clutched the weapon to her chest and peered through the window. Týr stood on the porch, surveying the night. She couldn’t see or sense anything deadly out there, but then she didn’t have heightened senses like him.
Regardless, whatever was outside, she didn’t want to face it almost naked. With her own clothes wet and ruined, she went for the first thing she saw…Týr’s jacket.
He’d left it on the couch, and it was toasty warm. His scent of citrusy bergamot and leather enveloped her almost like a caress. And as if her fingers had a mind of their own, they traced her still swollen lips. Her tummy dipped, recalling his mouth on hers—tasting, demanding more—no! This wasn’t helping.
Admittedly, she didn’t know much about the man behind the stunning façade—aside from him living to torment her—but in just a short few hours tonight, she’d come to know so much more. Týr cared, even if he didn’t always sound like it with his blasé attitude and sarcastic tongue.
But whatever this attraction between them was, it could only be transient. She, more than anyone, understood why.
Her mind slipped back to a year ago when she’d gone into the Dark Realm with Týr and Blaéz after a demonii had abducted Echo. Aethan had killed the monster, but Echo’s spurned ex, in cahoots with said demonii had shot her friend. In her pain and fury, Kira had snatched a dagger from the person nearest her and stabbed the insane jerk.
Slowly, she caressed the cool, black blade with her fingertips. Even if she couldn’t recall whose weapon she’d used, it had beenTýrwho’d taken the dagger from her afterwards. Not Blaéz.
Months later, Echo had revealed the truth of exactly what the warriors’ weapons embodied before showing her. Only a true mate could summon a Guardian’s obsidian dagger once she touched it. Out of curiosity, Kira had tried soon after, but the weapon didn’t appear when she willed it.
Drawn as she was to Týr, reality had shown her the truth.
Kira dropped the dagger onto the table. She wanted to be with someone who would be hers alone, not destined for another.
