“She told them,” Eve whispered.
Her trembling body wrenched his mind back, and he regained control over his need for retribution.
About to dematerialize, he cursed. The dissolving of their molecules would hurt her more. He tore off his tee. In a swish, his wings flared out. He swept Eve back into his arms and took to the skies. He held her close and out of the rush of wind created by his extremities. With his mind, he cast a haze around them to keep them undetected from human eyes. But he sensed North and Aerén following him.
“I'm all right,” she whispered.
“No, you're not,” he growled, knowing she’d said that to ease him.
She sighed and rested her face against his chest. Her fingers stroked his nape along the line of tension that remained coiled in him.
“These injuries aren’t from them—the Darkreans. When that horrible goddess struck me, I landed in a flower stall. Then people tried to help...”
And she’d passed out from all the emotions flooding her, making it easy for the emotionless fucks to take her. The fact that Inanna had dared to attack Eve had his blood buzzing in rage. But deep down, Reynner knew the goddess would have done far worse than the Darkreans if she’d taken Eve.
***
Reynner scowled at the closed bathroom door. Eve had shut him out—shut him out because he’d wanted to heal her first.
Reining in his frustration, he willed the door open and a cloud of steam enclosed him. The noisy splattering of water filled the small space. Eve turned, and her wide green eyes met his through the misty shower glass.
Did she really think she’d keep him out? Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the basin and watched her soap her injured body. Felt every wince as she ran the sponge over herself.
Finally, she shut off the water. As she stepped out from the shower, he held the towel open and gently wrapped it around her. Then he took another and dried her hair. The swelling on her forehead had darkened to an ugly purple. Several bruises marred her shoulder. His lips tight, he tossed the towel aside.
“Reynner—” She pushed the tangled damp strands from her face. “I’m sorry, but I needed a bath first.” She stroked his chest, like that would pacify him. “I'm fine, really,” she murmured and limped from the bathroom to her room.
“Fine?” He followed, temper flaring. He shut the door quietly behind them, resisting the urge to slam the thing. “Then why are you limping?”
A red flush streaked across her cheeks. Casting him a wary look, she shuffled to her closet, opened a drawer, and took out underwear. Pulling on pink panties, she stiffened. Her loose, damp hair hid her expression, but her indrawn breath told him how bad it was.
Jaw rigid, he stripped the towel from her, ignoring her gasp of indignation. Faced with the ugly contusions on her hips, the little insect bites on her arms and legs, his anger morphed into fear again. “Gods, Eve, look at you. You’re hurt so bad.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” she whispered, eyes mossy green with pain. “But I needed a bath more. Reynner, I slept on a flea-infested mattress.” A tremor of distaste crossed her face as if that justified waiting to be healed. “A few more minutes wouldn’t make my injuries life-threatening.”
A low snarl rumbled from him. His mate had a way of pushing his buttons.
“Please,” she said, coming closer. “It’s just a few bruises. You can heal me now.”
She stood in front of him, so fragile and small. And frighteningly brave. Still, it was damn difficult to let go of his terror of what could have happened. He took the bra she held and tossed it on the bed.
“What were you doing out on the street?” he asked while he examined the bruises.
She eyed him warily, lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “We, er, went to buy flowers.”
He’d almost lost her because she’d gone to buy goddamn flowers.
Mouth clamped, he laid his hand on the swollen, dark flesh surrounding the split skin on her forehead, aware of her worried gaze on him. He summoned his healing abilities, but the weak flow of light drew his anger closer to the surface. He could heal a torn earlobe, but not a more severe injury. A mere trickle of it seeped into her body. This lame shit wasn't going to cut it.
“Lucan!” Taking the towel he’d tossed on her bed, he wrapped it around her again.
“No, no. Don’t call him,” she protested. “It’s okay, I’ll heal on my own, or see a doctor.”
“Lucan—dammit!”
The door opened and North stood at the entrance. “He’s not here yet. Can I be of help?”
Reynner found it hard to talk through a jaw gone rigid. “Heal her.”
