Page 29 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
Gift isn’t what I’d call it, but I see where he’s coming from. He’s slain his demon.
AfterItook him into her den in the first place, I remind myself. He never let on that she was one of his abusers. Never even said a word, and that hurts even though it has no right to.
I know why he did it. Our aim in coming to the Summer Court was to get Eero’s vow and leave. If I’d known about any of this, I would’ve lost control of Danu, just as I have every time I’ve come across his former ‘patrons.’ Máel would’ve died, and Eero would’ve declared a civil war. Ironically, all of that happened anyway…
“I’m not healed.” Bree sets me gently on my feet by the serene pool of water. “I’m not stupid enough to think killing her will undo the decades of damage. I’m also not sure why you still wantsomeone so tainted in your Guard, but I’ve given up fighting you on this. I don’t have the willpower. If you say I am worthy, I will become so. If you say I am no less than the others, then I will do whatever it takes to prove you right. I don’t have the strength to exist without you, and I’m so sick and tired of my scars standing between us.”
I duck my gaze, looking at the water to escape the intensity of his words. “I want you to want those things for yourself.”
“I do.” His hands drop mine, tracing up my arms to cup my shoulders. “I want them for myself because I wantyoufor myself. It’s an entirely selfish, dishonourable motive.”
Dimly, I realise we’re no longer stuck together, but I don’t make a move to touch him.
He might be determined, but I’m equally so. I won’t hurt this beautiful male. He’s suffered enough.
“Awww,” Lore pouts as he blinks beside us. “I thought Rose might be naked by now.”
Bree rolls his eyes, and I sigh, unbuckling the sword belt from my waist and ripping my ruined dress over my head as I head for the water.
Lore sighs. “Best mate ever.”
I think I hear Bree’s grunt of agreement before I dip beneath the surface and scrub at my skin, grabbing handfuls of the sandy silt beneath me to scour the blood away. A splash alerts me that I’m not the only one using this opportunity, and I burst from the water with a huge breath, expecting to see Lore.
But the redcap is gone, and the púca is in the water next to me.
He takes my hands and holds them in his, flipping my palms over to expose the slightly reddened skin surrounded by patches of blood that I’ve missed.
“Let me.”
“You don’t have to.” I push away. “I know touching?—”
“You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” He halts me before I can escape. “If you weren’t here, I’d have lost it the second someone freed me. I almostdidlose it when Lore blinked you out of the dungeon. I know it’s wrong… just… don’t send me away.”
I choke out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.
“I can’t get the blood off,” I whisper.
His head jerks down in a nod, and he takes my hands again. “I can help.”
It’s strange, being washed by a male. I think my Guard helped me after my fever, but I was so out of it I barely remember. Now, I’m attuned to every swipe of his fingers against my flesh. Not in a sexual way—we’re both too exhausted for that—but there’s comfort in the touch. Intimacy.
It distracts me from the knowledge that some of what he’s undoubtedly rinsing away is Bram’s blood.
“I can wash you, if you like,” I say, as he finishes gently running his fingers through my hair and helps me stand.
He doesn’t hesitate, placing my hands on his chest. My fingers curl against his pale skin and his tattoos swirl in answer.
“Wash her off me,” he pleads. “I can stillscenther, dragonfly.”
Using the same sweeping soft strokes he treated me with, I slowly and methodically wash his chest, working my way around to his back. The cat-sìth tattoo follows me, shoving aside knives and instruments in his quest to ensure I’m always petting him, though Espen and Lox both shove him away, jealously guarding their own territory when he gets too close.
When I hesitate at the dimples above Bree’s ass, he hisses out a breath. “Everywhere. Every part of me belongs to you, dragonfly. Only you.”
I don’t know what to say. This isn’t a situation I know how to deal with. I have no experience to draw on, no idea if this is helping him heal or just making me into his crutch.
The second he changes his mind, I’m ready to stop and give him space. But he doesn’t. I get the sense that this is a reclaiming of sorts. A way for him to choose which touch he allows. All I can do is keep the sweeping motions of my hands compassionate instead of erotic as I finish up and gesture for him to crouch so I can wash his hair.
His cat ears twitch, flicking water as I run my hands through the silky black fur. My fingers coast down to the base of his neck, switching from washing to working out the tension.
