Page 55 of Nyx
He doesn’t seem to realize the devastating sadness of his words, and I try not to let their impact show on my face. He’s in a good mood, and I don’t want to take that away from him. “Well, used to it or not, it’s my job to spoil you now.”
“Spoil? Spoil is bad? Rotten?”
I chuckle at his scrunched nose and gesture at my impromptu seat. It’s strange seeing him in clothes that show off his body, and I can’t help the way I stare as he moves. “It can mean that, yes. When food spoils, it means it’s gone bad. But when you spoil someone you lo—care about,” I sputter, cheeks flaming as he sinks onto the blanket. “It means you take care of them.”
“You already take care of me.” He says it with such confidence, like the things I’ve been able to give him are more than tiny offerings. More than just a bumbling man with a hot temper, trying to balance the scales for the one good thing he’s ever found.
“I do.”
“So I am thisspoiled?”
“Not yet, but you will be, so get used to it.” The mattress sinks as I knee-walk onto it, stopping in the center. “I’m going to sit behind you, okay? My legs might touch you, and I’ll obviously have to use my hands…”
“Reyes.” The stern exasperation in his voice makes me choke back a laugh, and he peeks over his shoulder at me. “I am not scared of you.”
“I still like to tell you when I touch you.”
“No one else ever bothered,” he mutters, but his tone is more annoyed than upset.
“Well, I’m not everyone else, am I?”
“No,” he agrees in a murmur, and I fight the urge to push him and askwhatI am to him, just to savor the sound of his sweet, breathy voice.
Gods, I’m so incredibly fucked.
His shoulders stiffen momentarily as my legs land on either side of him, but they relax as I uncap the oil. “You can’t tell Ronan I have this,” I tease as I scoop out a finger’s worth and rub it between my palms. “If he hears I have something that would make his hair soft, he’ll fight me for it. You haven’t seen us in the ring, but just know that I’d lose. Horribly.”
Another of those short, huffing laughs leaves his nose, and the sound lifts me so high I feel like I’m floating. My hands coast down his hair, stopping at the tangled areas and massaging the oil between the strands before moving on to the next. He sits perfectly still as I work, although when I graze the edge of his ear, he shivers.
“Does that tickle?” I ask.
“Ears are… what is the word? They feel a lot.”
“Sensitive.” Biting my lip between my teeth, I tease the pointed tip again.
“Sensitive,” he breathes, and gods above, if it doesn’t do something to me. Blood rushes south and spreads as I take a few breaths, trying to calm my body’s reaction.
“This might tug a little, okay? Tell me if I hurt you.” My voice has gone rough, but he doesn’t seem to notice as I swap the jar of oil for the hairbrush. “Lean forward so I can start at the bottom, sirrha.”
His spine curves, and I try not to dwell on the prominent knobs that show through his shirt. Gaining weight is slow business, and can’t be rushed. Instead, I focus on the strands of his hair between my fingers, and the steady lift of his back as he breathes. The closeness is heady, as are the soft noises he makes.
“Tell me something,” he says as I work on an area at the base of his neck that’s particularly knotted.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything… I just like hearing you talk.” My skin flushes, and if he turned around, he’d see the massive grin on my face. “Had you always lived at the camp? The one with the greenhouse?”
“For a long time, yes, but not forever,” I say as I brush. “I grew up in a place far away from here. It was a small village, not much bigger than this one, close to a military base called Houston. There was a lot of unrest among the people. Half of them wanted to move to the city and work for the mon—for your kind.”
“You can call them monsters. Many of them are.”
He’d know better than most, wouldn’t he? I clear my throat and continue brushing. “My parents were part of the group that was pushing to move, but others in the camp didn’t agree with their choice. I was young, still in my teenage years, so I was too self-absorbed to understand any of it. My parents tried to keep me out of the drama, but with so few people, I saw what was happening.”
“Another woman, Savannah, considered herself the leader of our village, and was very outspoken about how much she hated the cities and the people inside. She wanted to stay in the wilderness like we always had. One day, my mom and dad left with a few others to go on a supply run. Savannah believed they were going to turn in our location as a way to gain favor.”
“Were they?” he asks.
“If they were, I hadn’t heard about it, but they could’ve kept it from me.” A rueful snort of laughter leavesmy nose. “It would make sense if they were. Saving your own skin might run in the family. At the time, there was no way to know, though, and Savannah didn’t want to risk it. With my parents and their friends gone, there were fewer than twenty people there who could fight.”
