Permission granted, he knelt beside the couch and curled his free hand behind her neck to steady her, very aware of the spike in her pulse at the contact. But his other hand was steady as he brought the glass to her lips, even as his own heart rate accelerated.
Whitney’s body trembled, but she parted her lips and swallowed a tentative sip. It was like that first mouthful cleared away her fears, because she then began to drink greedily, and whimpered a protest when he pulled the glass away after she’d downed half of it.
“You're dehydrated, don’t want you vomiting this right back up again,” he told her as he set the glass on the coffee table. “I'm going to clean and bandage your wrists, then you can have some more.”
She didn't say anything, just tracked his every move as he reached for the first aid kit he’d found earlier, and began totend to her torn wrists. Hanging for so long had ruined the skin beyond repair. It would heal, but not well, and she’d be left with nasty-looking scars. If she’d been guilty, she would deserve every second of the pain dangling from her wrists would have caused her, but the more he watched her, saw how timid she was, how scared, he didn't believe she was guilty of anything.
Once her wrists were bandaged, he brought the glass to her lips again. This time, she didn't hesitate to drink, and although she jumped when the glass was empty and he began to massage her arms again, she didn't try to pull away.
“What happens now?” she asked several minutes later. There was a weariness in her gaze he wanted to erase, and the guilt from being told she was responsible for the deaths of those who hadn't survived being injected with the drugs seemed to cling to her.
If he hadn't already wanted Dr. Gardner dead, he would now that he knew the man had literally branded a young girl and told her she was responsible for people’s deaths. If the ages were correct, Whitney would have only been twelve when he and his team signed up for the program. They were the first, but there had been others in the facility with them. At most, Whitney would have been thirteen when the first men died, barely a teenager, nothing more than a child.
But it was clear she believed what she’d been told. She carried the weight of each death on her slim shoulders, just like it was clear she still believed he was going to punish her for sins she had been forced to commit.
“Now you get some sleep,” he told her simply. She needed food, but she needed rest more. He’d get her some more water and some painkillers, and then she needed a good night’s sleep. In the morning, he’d break the news that he was taking her back home with him, and he was only reasonably certain the rest of his team believed she was telling them the truth.
“Sleep?” she echoed like it was the last thing she expected him to say, and it was obvious she was waiting for the catch.
Which was smart, because there was one.
“We both need sleep,” he said firmly as he set her arm down and moved to grab something he knew was going to freak her out.
“Both of us?”
“Both,” he agreed as he turned around and snapped the metal cuff around her wrist before she registered what he was doing, the other end of the handcuff went around his own wrist. “Hope you don’t snore because I hate that sound.”
January 12th
6:38 A.M.
Whitney had to pee, but she wasn't sure what the rules were.
She was a prisoner, she knew that much. The very fact that she was still chained up, even if it was now a handcuff attached to a huge man instead of ropes around her wrists and hanging from a tree, was proof of that.
At least she’d been allowed to sleep in the bed. After cuffing her to him, Blade had scooped her up, carried her to the bedroom, and tucked them both under the covers. Hard as it was, she’d managed to fall asleep in a position where her body didn't touch his, but when she’d woken up a moment ago, she could see she’d shifted during the night.
Not just shifted, but rolled onto her side, pressed herself right up against Blade, and used his rock-hard chest as a pillow. A surprisingly comfortable pillow. She wasn't the only one who had moved, though. Blade had shifted, too, angled himselfso that he brought her closer, their joined hands sandwiched between them, and his other hand resting on her hip.
The position was … intimate.
Exactly how she would imagine happy couples sleeping together. Only they weren't a happy couple. They weren't a happy anything. Or at least she wasn't. No doubt her take on the situation as the captive and Blade’s as the captor of someone responsible for altering his life were entirely different.
“How long do you plan on lying there before you say something?”
Totally unprepared for his voice, especially since she’d thought Blade was still asleep, Whitney let out a startled yelp and jerked herself backward, temporarily forgetting that she was cuffed to the man. Pain screamed through her shoulder at the movement, and she cried out before she even realized it. The sound startled her again, and she would have fallen off the bed if Blade hadn't caught her.
Not just snapped his hand into the one cuffed right beside his, which would have done the job, although caused her more pain in the process. Nope, he somehow moved his entire body in the same second she was falling, and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him.
“Didn't mean to scare you,” he said, his voice rumbling through the chest she was now once again pressed against.
It really was a very nice chest. All hard planes and perfect definition. Of course, she got that she was still in danger from this man, even if he had been gentle with her just then, gentle with her last night as well as he cleaned the wounds on her wrists and massaged feeling back into her arms.
But that didn't change anything, and she would do well to remember that.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, her gaze darting about, settling anywhere other than on the face far too close to hers. Not justbecause she was afraid of what she might see in his eyes, but also because she was afraid to let him see what was in hers. He would expect the pain and fear, but he’d think she was stupid if he noted the attraction.
She just couldn’t help it, she’d never been this close to a man so full of raw power. Usually, she was around scientists, people who spent more time sitting in front of a computer or working in a lab than they did in a gym, their bodies were soft and gooey not hard and toned. Sure, there were always guards about, but they kept their distance, mostly patrolling outside the lab not inside it.
