Page 60 of Hellish Witch

The sight of him on a bed threatened to distract me from my mission, but I managed to scramble enough sense together and grabbed the kit off the nightstand. Rifling through the contents, I found an expired antiseptic cream from the human realm, thread with no needle, and gauze pads that may or may not have already been opened.

I sighed. “It won’t be as effective as healing magic, but it’s better than tearing you apart further.” I pinned him with my stern healer glare. “Wait here.”

An indulgent smirk curved his lips, and I turned away before he could draw another hiss from me, stepping into the tiny attached bathroom. Ignoring the cracked tiles and cloudy mirror above the rough-hewn basin, I filled a small bucket of pale-pinkliquid from the tap. At least the inn had running water, piped in and filtered from the river flowing alongside it.

After fishing a threadbare cloth from the wicker basket beside the sink, I hurried back out.

The enforcer remained exactly how I’d left him, ankles crossed, leaned back on forearms propped on the bed beneath him, wings splayed over the fur blankets.

Countless wounds trickled bright blood down his plum skin, smearing the predatory birds decorating his torso.

I longed to study his tattoos in more detail. I’d never really let myself look at him too closely, instinctively knowing it would only make me feel worse.

Plus, it was kinda rude to salivate over your patients. I may not have exactly been a trained doctor, but even I knew being a pervert was a no-no.

His eyes tracked my every move, but they lacked their usual mischievous gleam. All the fighting and constant injuries were finally catching up to him.

Guilt nipped me with sharp fangs. I was the one who kept hurting him.

Setting the bucket on the creaky bedside table, I dunked the cloth and leaned over his wide frame, gently dabbing the blood from the worst cuts before replacing each one with a gauze pad taped to his skin.

I frantically ignored the way he shivered at my almost touch, goosebumps rising on his skin where I stroked him with the damp linen.

With a shaky inhale, I finally scrounged up the courage to speak. “Thank you for carrying me out of there. You saved our furred friends and those hybrids.”

From me.

His gaze felt hot on my face, but I couldn’t meet it with my own.

“I didn’t do it for them,” he rasped.

Long minutes slunk by as I worked in silence, unable to answer him. The familiar process of tending to a patient lulled me instead. I ran out of questionable gauze before he ran out of wounds, though the worst of them were now patched up with the stark bandaging.

“Thanks, kid,” the incubus murmured, and a small smile emerged, a genuine expression that showed faint dimples.

What kind of blood-soaked killer haddimples?

I straightened with a huff, inspecting my work. “At least you won’t bleed all over me, since you insisted on sharing a bed.”

He stood, bringing our bodies flush. Warmth lit my cheeks. His wing arced out to shepherd me onto the bed, taking his place.

A yawn cracked my jaw, taking me by surprise as I settled onto the firm mattress, scooting back when Killian peeled the covers aside for me, gently helping me in. My eyes blinked heavily.

The incubus paused, fisting the covers and staring at the sliver of bare mattress beside my prone form. A debate played out across his severe features.

“I don’t bite,” I muttered, trying not to look too much into his hesitation at climbing into bed with me, even though I’d been the one insisting on two rooms.

And they said we succubae were natural temptresses.

His lips twitched. “It’s not your fangs I’m worried about.”

I quirked a brow and let the weight of my head finally hit the pillow. I had no clue what he was nattering on about, but a bone-deep exhaustion robbed me of the ability to overthink that too.

“Just get in, Killian.”

On the next blink, my lids didn’t reopen.

Instead, I let the burned-caramel scent of Killian wrap around me, sweet enough to make my mouth water but with that edge of smoky darkness that was all him.

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