Page 34 of Claimed
I have this insane urge to take it back. Just so maybe he will touch me again.
He stalks away toward the bathroom across from me. The lights come on, offering a hint of his silhouette behind the opaque walls. Water runs and I hear several long splashes before it cuts off. He comes back out, face clean once more, and a sodden rag in his hand.
Dropping to one knee in front of me, he moves the rag toward my face.
I flinch back. “What are you doing?”
One dark brow arches. “You have blood on your face. It will crack and become itchy as it dries. I was going to clean it off.”
I stare at him. “If you untie me, I can do it myself.”
His lips spread into a small smile. “I could. Or you could merely stop being bullheaded and cooperate.”
My lips open and close.
Chuckling darkly, he presses the warm cloth to my throbbing temple. A moan slips free. I lean into the heat.
His crimson eyes flash and he peers into my face. “How much are you hurting?”
I don’t speak. I can’t. The relief from even a little of the ache makes my eyes burn.
His touch is gentle, the rag soft. Red light shines out of my peripheral and the cooling rag warms more. Not too much, but enough that some of the pulsing ache fades.
We stare at each other as he slowly cleans my skin. When he is done, he takes the bloodstained fabric back into the bathroom, rinses it out and brings it and a glass of water over to me.
Rolling the rag up, he lays the heated cloth at the base of my neck, and the warmth slowly dispels the rest of the pain. He presses the glass to my bottom lip. “Drink,” he commands.
I hasten to obey as the one word seems to vibrate into me like a tuning fork.
Glowering as I realize he used his demon magick, I take a small sip of the tepid water. He eases back, the devilish gleam back in his eyes.
He drops gracefully onto the floor in front of me, knees slightly drawn up and the glass still in hand. “Now. Where were we?” he asks me.
“You were trying to get me to rat myself out, and I was refusing.”
His lips turn upward. “Ah. That.” He reaches up and plucks the cap off his head before dropping it at his side. One long fingered hand tousles his chaotic midnight locks. He shakes his head and the jagged tendrils fall over his eyes again.
God, the man is insufferable.
My core clamps.
And hot.
So damn hot.
“So you won’t even help me at the benefit of the world?” he says into my tension.
“The benefit of the world?” I ask wryly.
“Brightex kills supes.” I stare at him as his words echo in my ears. “It is very dangerous, and in the wrong hands, it can be made to work on humans.”
Like Azz’s hands?
Did he know that was what was in the cases?
He has to. Azz does nothing blind.
As much evil as I have committed, as much as I have stolen over the years, can I really turn a drug like that out onto the streets? Can I turn it over to Azz?
