Page 32 of A Kiss From Death
I plop down on the bed, and he leans forward to get a better look, wedging my knees between his very large legs. There goes my heart, forgetting how to beat properly again. That doesn’t sound healthy.
His overpowering scent of smoke mixed with sandalwood envelops me, giving me a heady high. My mind short-circuits as I take in the mountain of a man in front of me, who’s taking care of me with such delicacy, a side I have yet to see from him.
It’s confusing in the least and inebriating in the most. I feel drunk off his gentle caress of the side of my face. I get double vision when I take in his ying yang eyes that I can’t seem to stray from. There’s a story hidden behind those opposite saucers, and I yearn to reach in and dig around for the answers.
My eyes betray me, tracing the jagged scar slashing across his gray eye, and I wince. It looks angry, like it didn’t get the opportunity to heal properly, like it’s been neglected. It makes me wonder if there’s reasoning to his closed off personality? Is it a defense mechanism, protecting his heart?
Does his heart harbor twin wounds with mine? Is he as broken and damaged as I am? A pile of chipped puzzle pieces that will never truly fit back together again?
“It just looks like a flesh wound, a minor tear,” he hums to himself. “You should have an aid kit stashed in your washroom. Stay put while I grab it.”
“Yes, sir.” I can’t help the words that rush out of my mouth as I fake salute him. The dense air was starting to shove so far down my throat, it was suffocating me, so I had to change the mood the best way I know how.
Getting under his skin.
Hade growls from the washroom at my remark. The doors rattle around on their hinges as he gathers the supplies he needs.
I hum to myself to pass the time while I kick my legs back and forth like a child. I feel his overwhelming presence before he comes into view, which always seems to happen when he’s involved.
He rounds the bed to stand in front of me again, his usual stern face firmly in place. His knee presses against mine, and a spark of electricity zaps through my body.
Get it together, Nyxi.
“May I touch you?” he asks gently.
“Seems like a little too personal of a question to be asking a contestant, Vanquisher,” I spew without even thinking. There I go again, making things awkward like it’s my damn job. These quiet moments are the ones that make me want to rip the skin from my body. The chaotic events of my life recently have been much easier to immerse myself in to help dull the pile of raging thoughts in my mushy brain.
This feels all too…intimate.
“Nightmare,” he grumbles under his breath, sighing. “For once, can you not be difficult?”
The loss of my name from his lips threatens to shatter my already-broken heart all over again. There he goes, using that nickname he so graciously gifted me. It helps me, though, helps distance my confused and battered heart from walking the plank to its impending doom.
I push my shoulders back, straightening my spine and slapping on the forced smile I wield so easily now. “Go ahead, get it over with. I’m tired and need to bathe,” I huff.
This time, when he slowly reaches forward and wraps one of my curls around his finger like it’s a treasure, I keep my eyes focused on the wall in front of me, as far away from his beautifully infuriating face as possible. He doesn’t tuck it behind my ear this time, though. He sits there, pondering it like it’s one of the sacred wonders of the world.
“It’s not black?” he states curiously.
“What, your soul?” I tease.
He tugs the curl at my smart remark, making my head yank to the side with a slight painful jolt to the root. I won’t look into the other jolt I feel fluttering up my stomach at the thought of him playfully pulling my hair.
“Your hair. It’s not fully black. It’s a galaxy of blue and purple hues mixed to create a glittering black vortex,” he whispers to himself at the revelation.
I’m still staring at the wall, doing everything in my power to avoid the distraction ogling over my hair color. I feel the gentle caress of a finger hook under my chin, tugging me to look up at him. My eyes stay glued to the wall as long as possible, but they betray me at the last second, flinging to lock with the ones staring into my soul.
He’s looking at me with curiosity, like he can’t quite figure me out. We stay like that, our breaths labored, the only noise filling our ears for what feels like minutes. He’s staring so intently at me, and I don’t think he’s blinked once.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “These storm cloud eyes remind me of a distant memory I can’t quite seem to place,” he whispers to himself. He blinks, and his hard exterior slips back in placeso easily.
Still gripping my chin, he pushes it to the side to expose my bleeding ear. “I’m just going to clean this up and add some ointment so it doesn’t risk infection. I’ll wrap some gauze on it to stop the bleeding from getting everywhere.”
He’s all business now, sticking to the basics and treating me like any other contestant. Am I, though? Does he sneak into other contestants’ rooms to check on them? To tend to their wounds? I sure know Aeron has many wounds that could use tending to tonight.
Hade goes to work dabbing my ear with a wet cloth, cleaning the blood away. I let out a hiss when he gets close to the cut, and he lightens his touch. He lays a container on the bed next to me, unscrewing the lid and swiping a glob of ointment out with his finger. He leans in closer, ever so gently applying the ointment all over.
As soon as the cool gel hits my skin, I relax into the bed at the comfort it brings me. It’s soothing and must have some type of numbing properties, because the sharp sting lessens to a dull ache.
