Page 41 of Phoenix's Last Heist
That pulls the smirk right off of my face.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.
He sighs. “I can’t see the edge of the wound beneath your shirt. You’ll have to take it off so I can clean it and see how bad it is beneath all this blood and dirt.”
“But the grenade…myvellia…” I stammer.
“I’m fine,” he insists.
“Are you sure about that?” I press. He certainly doesn’t look fine. He looks like he’s hanging onto his sober sanity by a thread thinner than spider-silk.
“No, but it doesn’t change the fact that you need help with this,” he replies. “The…urge…to take care of you is stronger than the one that demands I fuck you.”
My mouth drops open at his delicious words. This is definitely not the same Orion I’ve come to know over the past few weeks. Under the effects ofvellia,he’s dominant, insistent, and powerful—and it’s driving me crazy.Heat kindles between my legs and goosebumps rise along my skin. I take a deep breath to center myself and try to block out the frantic desire.Focus on the pain, Lyra.
My wound begins to bleed again and I bite my lip from the discomfort of drawing my shirt up over my head. Orion watches the fabric bare my breasts—the muscles in his jaw flexing so hard, his teeth might crack. The juxtaposition of this dark, nearly feral side of him ignites something deep within me. He’s like some kind of fallen angel, and it makes me want to sin something awful with him.I slam my eyelids closed, afraid to address the feeling. Not wanting to look into his black and green eyes and see what I’m afraid to see—the mirror of my own flawed longing.
The gentleness of his hands as he cleans my shoulder catches me by surprise. I sense he’s straining at the end of some kind of tether, but the hold he has on himself is powerful. I envy him that. I’ve spent too much of my life being a slave to my emotions, barreling headlong into actions without considering the possible fallout. I don’t have the strength to delay gratification or savor my moments. Sometimes, I feel like my days are an endless conveyer belt of pleasures tumbling into a black hole inside me.
The sting of antiseptic shocks me out of my melancholy and I hiss.
“Sorry,” he says. “I should’ve warned you.”
I try to shrug it off and focus on the physical pain to distract myself from my emotional turmoil.
“I suppose that’s fair,” I return. Guilt eats at me, corroding my confidence like acid through metal. “I’m sorry about Fobos. About everything.”
He grunts, but I don’t know if that means he forgives me or not.
“You need stitches,” he says. “I don’t suppose you have a nanopatch in here, do you?”
“Yeah, should be in the drawer over there,” I reply, pointing across the room. Orion’s gaze immediately snaps to my bared breasts and he lurches forward reflexively.
I flinch and draw back, covering myself with my good arm. Embarrassment colors his cheeks a fetching shade of pink.
“Sorry,” we both say at the same time. I chuckle, but he just shakes himself and strides over to the drawer. He grabs a slim metal box and comes back to sit in front of me, tugging his necktie loose and letting it hang down his shirt. The movement is unbearably erotic.
He peels the backing off the nanopatch and presses the small blue button to charge it up.
“Have you ever used one of these before?” he asks. “They can be a little painful if you’re not expecting it.”
I nod. “Yep. Nothing a couple painkillers won’t fix. Go ahead and slap it on, Ranger, and let the nano bots get to work.”
“Deep breath,” he says, and presses the patch over the wound. The initial sting makes me grit my teeth, but I take the pills Orion proffers and down them with a swig of water. In a few hours, the nano bots will finish repairing the worst of the tissue damage, and I’ll be none the worse for wear—minus another cool scar to tell no one about. Reluctantly, I drag my shirt back over my head.
Orion cleans up the bloodied bandages and opens a fresh package of antiseptic wipes.
“For your face,” he says, pointing to the cut on my eyebrow above the eye I can already feel swelling shut. That bastard enforcer sucker punched me good when I tried to take him down to get to Orion, but I would have fought my way through a thousand Void Stalkers and Brill himself to get to him in time. It’s useless to deny the panic and anxiety I felt when my grenade had first malfunctioned and I could only listen as Fobos pulled his gun on Orion.
Dread had sent me to a dark place, making myvelliaspike out of control on the casino floor. It was too bad the enforcer had been immune to me—a thought I heartily echo as Orion swipes the stinging antiseptic pad across my eyebrow.
“Fucking stars,” I swear. “You’d think by now someone would’ve been able to invent a wound cleaner that didn’t hurt like hell.”
He grunts in assent. I look up at him, his posture still rigid but beginning to soften around the edges. Are the effects of thevelliabeginning to ebb?
His gaze drops to my lips and my tongue darts out to lick them reflexively. I taste blood and feel the pricking of pain from the cut on my lip. I forgot about that one.
“I should clean that one, too,” he says as he leans in, his low voice barely above a whisper.
