Page 240 of The Wishing Game

Those damn people!

Merely remembering that incident makes my blood boil again.

I reach out, brushing my hand over the back of his shirt and noticing the small cuts and tears in the material—he'd been hit. The bowls likely broke against his back and cut into his shirt...and his skin.

Of course, he's likely already healed from it. But that doesn't change the fact that it happened—that he couldn't even enjoy a simple dessert in public because people tried to kill him.

He might be the most hated man in Aperion but... There's just something utterly lonely and heartbreaking about him that makes me want to protect him—show him that he can live his life differently. Because no matter what he's said and done in the past, the undeniable truth is that...he doesn't know better.

He's lived his life as he was conditioned to, only existing, never truly living. For that alone, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt—give him a chance that no one else seemingly has.

After I'm done with my perusal, I plant myself in front of him, meeting his gaze directly.

He blinks.

"Are you all right?" he inquires slowly.

"I'm fine. But you..." I shake my head. "Let's get you cleaned up," I say as I grab his hand—and get some sticky ice onto my skin—and pull him toward the bathroom. He follows dutifully.

I invite him to sit down on a chair next to the sink while I wet a cloth.

I gently dab the cloth across his face, first wiping the dirt off his forehead before moving to his cheeks and jaw. Lastly, I wipe the little cute dot off his nose.

All the while, he doesn't say a word as he watches me intently, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The purple of his eyes is even more magical this up close, and heat rises up my cheeks when I find myself staring at him, our gazes locked in an intimate embrace.

Clearing my throat, I rinse the wet cloth and leave it in the sink as I turn my attention to the mess on his neck and torso.

"May I?" I murmur in a low voice as I point to his shirt.

He gives me a pointed nod.

Reaching for the buttons of his shirt, I slowly undo them. He helps me by shrugging the shirt off his body and throwing it in the sink.

I swallow.

I've seen him without his shirt before. But that was when he was Ze. Now he is Azerius, and the changes are marked. The same tattoos that are on one side of his face run down his neck and torso, disappearing into the band of his pants.

Almost instinctively, I brush one finger against his collarbone, following the pattern of the tattoos downward. They're all symbols of some kind, ancient runes that remind me of mystical tales from mythology, of arcane knowledge. Some lines are harsh while others curl beautifully around his golden skin, contouring every ridge and emphasizing the pronounced muscles beneath.

"What do these mean?" I ask softly, slowly raising my gaze to meet his unflinching one.

His jaw hardens, a twitch appearing in his cheek.

I continue to trace the beautiful inked lines, allowing myself to touch him as never before. Yet as I reach lower, he suddenly stops me.

"My curse," he states in a rough voice.

"What?" I blink in surprise.

His hand engulfs mine, keeping it immobile. His expression changes, too, the lines of his face becoming harsher, more tense.

He stares at me, a million battles being fought behind his troubled gaze.

"It is how I am bound to the Supremes. You asked me why I let them use me, why I am the sword that delivers their sentences. Whether I want it or not, I am programmed to do their bidding."

"I don't..." I frown.

Bringing my hand to his face, he places my open palm against his tattooed cheek.

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