Page 6 of Blade

“Sure it wasn't," he smirked, shifting her weight to one arm as he unlocked the door. "First of all, for the record, little girl, I'm whatever you need me to be while you're under my protection. Including that."

He pushed the door open and carried her inside, kicking it shut behind them. “Second, I don’t tolerate lying. I won’t lie to you and you won’t lie to me. If I catch you lying, there will be swift consequences.” The cabin was sparsely furnished, but clean. A large leather couch faced a stone fireplace. The kitchen was off to the right, separated from the living area by a breakfast bar. A hallway led to the bedrooms.

He set her down gently on the couch. "Stay put. I'm going to get the first aid kit."

She nodded, looking small and lost in his oversized jacket.

When he returned with the kit, she'd pulled her knees up to her chest, her eyes taking in every detail of the room. Assessing. Calculating. Looking for exits.

"Planning your escape already?" he asked dryly, kneeling in front of her.

Her gaze snapped to his. "Force of habit."

"Well, break it," he said firmly. "You're not going anywhere."

He lifted her injured ankle into his lap, carefully rolling up her jean leg again. The swelling was worse than he'd initially thought. The infection had spread, angry red streaks climbing up her calf.

"This needs antibiotics," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "When did this happen?"

"About a week ago," she admitted. "I put some Neosporin on it that I got from a gas station, but..."

"But you need actual medical care," he finished for her. "I'll have Doc come by tomorrow."

She tensed. "No doctors."

"Doc's one of ours," he explained. "He's discreet. And he won't report this."

She didn't look convinced.

"Let me be very clear about something," Blade said, meeting her eyes. "While you're here, you follow my rules. All of them. And rule number one is taking care of yourself. That means eating when I tell you to eat, sleeping when I tell you to sleep, and letting Doc look at this ankle. Got it?"

She glared at him. "And if I don't?"

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Then you'll be sitting on a very sore ass. Your choice, little girl."

Something about her brought out the Daddy in him. Maybe it was her size—she was tiny compared to him. Maybe it was the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

"Stop calling me that," she muttered.

"What? Little girl?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Yes," she said too quickly.

He began cleaning her ankle with antiseptic wipes, gentle despite his firm tone. "Your pulse jumps every time I say it. Your pupils dilate. You might not like that you like it, but you do."

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "I don't... that's not..."

"Save your breath," he cut her off. "I can read you like a book, Lily. You're not as mysterious as you think."

He finished cleaning the wound and applied antibiotic ointment, then wrapped her ankle in a clean bandage. His hands were surprisingly gentle for their size.

"There," he said, rolling her jean leg back down. "That should help until Doc can take a look."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He nodded once, then stood. "Hungry?"

As if on cue, her stomach growled loudly. She pressed a hand against it, embarrassed.

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