He moves it along my lip, then down my chin. “The pain will be minimal. And forgettable,” he repeats.
That’s not exactly the answer I want to hear, but it’s probably the only one I’m going to get. I let out a breath, then roll my head back on my shoulders and stare up at the ceiling. “Ugh. Fine. Do you have a piercing parlor you like, or…”
“Piercing…parlor?”
“Yeah. Like the person who puts in the rings?”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I will be the only one to touch you. I will place them.”
I try to step back before realizing that I’m backed up against the counter. I shove at him, but he doesn’t budge. “Dude. Do you know how to give piercings?”
He looks offended. “Of course I do. I have given plenty.”
Jealousy roars through me. It’s unexpected, but I can’t help it. “You’ve had other companions?”
Now he looks horrified. “No.”
“But you marked someone.”
Understanding dawns on his face. “You do not understand the significance for Vyastil.”
Clearly I don’t, but I’m not sure he’s going to give me an explanation. And I’m right. At least for the moment. He takes my hand and drags me through the kitchen, past my bedroom, and into his.
The bed is made neatly, so I wonder if he even slept there last night. He guides me to the mattress and pushes me down, then turns and walks to his closet.
I can hear him rummaging around, and he appears a moment later with a small, soft-shell bag with a silver zipper.It’s definitely human-made, but I know whatever’s in there isn’t human at all.
My heart starts to thud hard, and I remember the last time I needed blood drawn, I woke up on the floor of the phlebotomist’s office staring up at the fluorescent lights.
At least here there’s a mattress beneath me this time.
“So. That’s the…uh. Stuff?”
Rathyn regards me for a long moment. “You’re afraid,” he states for the second time.
I have zero reason to lie to him. “Yep.”
He sets the bag on the nightstand, then, with his long legs, climbs over me and onto the bed. He arranges the pillows against the headboard, then stretches out his legs and uses his annoying-as-fuck strength to turn me around and tug me onto him, my legs straddling his.
He’s a solid weight beneath me, which I appreciate. At least he’ll probably catch me if I keel over.
“Hand me the box,” he commands.
I obey, unthinking, then am annoyed with myself for doing it. But he looks pleased, and something zings up my spine as he offers me the barest hint of a smile, showing off a tiny bit of fang.
I try not to flinch at the sound of the zipper when he opens the bag, but nothing in there looks metal or sharp. Instead, he produces a small jar of purple leaves that look a bit like the ruenox.
“Oh, fuck no.”
He frowns.
“I don’t want to be out of my mind horny while you’re trying to shove a needle through my nipple.”
He huffs a small sigh as he uncorks the bottle and produces a single leaf. “This is not for cum. This is for pain and healing.”
I eye the thing. “Really?”
He glances up, seemingly offended that I don’t trust him. “Zitha,” he says, like I’m supposed to remember that word, even if it does sound familiar. “It will ease the sting and heal the wounds.”
