He rolls over, pulling the top cover over himself as he moves to prop up on an elbow. With a lingering look of concern, his gaze searches mine. “How do you feel?”
“The same as the last time I passed out.”
The mortals-don’t-live-long-with-Sabers thing is really starting to be driven home. The risk is real. The dangers are real. And the pain is very real.
He leans down, pressing the barest kiss to my forehead.
“How does your arm feel?” he asks, his lips brushing against my skin.
My eyes drift shut again, all of me relaxing into the sensation. “Like I want to kiss you.”
He chuckles. “No, your arm.”
“It wants to kiss you, too.”
He sits up sharply, clearly needing a serious answer, and grabs my arm, inspecting it. Disappointment races through me. Would he listen if I ordered him to lie back down?
“Killian said it worked,” he presses. His tone is calm, but there’s a forced edge to it.
I keep my mouth shut because my arm still hurts, and there's a chance I knocked myself out for nothing. Or for only half a job.
“The bruising is gone,” he says.
He’s right – the bruising is gone, leaving smooth creamy-tan skin with a smudge of mud near my elbow.
“I can’t tell if the breaks have healed.” He looks at me as if I might have the answers.
I shake my head. “It still hurts.” Like a horse trampled it.
He frowns, looking like he might be ready to leap out of bed and lecture Roarke and Killian – or worse.
I reach for him. Grabbing at his chest, which would work if he were wearing a shirt, then at his arm. He slips free from my grip. If he were Roarke, I’d grab his hair, but Pax’s hair is a bit too short for that. So, I grab his ear.
He freezes instantly.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
His lips press into a hard line. “Are you commanding me to stay?”
“Yes, Pax. You need to stay here. You can’t be pissed at your brothers when I did this to myself.”
“Logan’s men broke it first, and Killian broke it a second time because I wasn’t there to protect you.”
“Shut up,” I growl at him. “I’m all for you protecting me – but not from your brothers. You said you trusted them.”
“I,” he says through gritted teeth. “Do.”
“And you can’t attack them with this sigil on, anyway.”
“I can yell at them for ten minutes – then attack.”
“Stay with me for ten minutes,” I say, mentally adding, then don’t attack them.
He leans towards me, which relaxes some of the pressure on his ear. Then he reaches for my arm, his fingertips trailing a line from my elbow to my hand and settling at my wrist. In no hurry to remove my grip.
“We need to be careful with you – I trust them to respect that. But we have all agreed that if one of us oversteps the line, the others will step in.”
“When did that happen?” I demand.
“While you were sleeping.”
I practically roll my eyes at him. “Which time?”
“The very first time.”
Okay. Um. “That was a long time ago.”
His brow furrows into confused angles.
“Why does that puzzle you?” he asks, sitting back.
“You didn’t even like me then.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice is soft, his movements gentle as he finally pulls my hand free from his ear. “I tried to make sure you didn’t like me. It didn’t work.”
“Oh, it was working.”
“What made it stop working?”
“You saved my life a few too many times,” I say. And you’re sexy as bralls, all the way to your core. “Wait, why did you like me? You guys hate mortals.”
“I don’t know. I have a feeling my mother knew, though.”
“Knew what, exactly? That this whole mate thing would happen?”
“Maybe. If she had taken you in like the rest of us, we’d have bonded as brother and sister. Maybe whatever is going to unfold requires this different kind of bond. Maybe because I’ve already lost one mate, it will be easier to lose another.” By the time he’s finished, his voice is little more than a whisper.
“Or maybe I’m going to kick ass and just need to learn how to use a weapon and your powers without knocking myself out.”
“If that’s even possible.”
I toss the blankets off, then snatch them back around me. “Where are my pants?”
“They were covered in mud. Apparently trying to heal you came before getting you clean. Your shirt was okay, as much as I wanted to take it off you.”
“You make it sound like I can’t get myself clean – like I’m a puppy who enjoys rolling in puddles.”
He leans in, lips brushing on the sensitive skin near my ear and sending shivers up my spine, then back down again.
“Yes, puppy. That’s exactly what you are,” he whispers.
I groan.
“What?” he asks, lips still so close to me that I can almost feel them.
“You’re naked.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m almost naked.”
“Yes.”
He cups my cheeks. Just the slightest bit of encouragement to turn my face, to put my lips and his lips together in a whisper of a kiss.
“I see the problem,” he says.
His lips. My lips. No room to breathe.
Pressing me down onto the bed, he angles himself over me. The blanket falls back from his bare chest. I moan, and his lips follow the source of the sound, kissing down my neck and over my throat.
“This was a bad idea,” he rumbles, his tongue tracing my collarbone.
I press my good hand to his chest with absolutely no intention of pushing him away. “Yes.”
“Don’t do that,” he says, starting to kiss from my shoulder back towards my neck. Slowly, like each one matters. Kiss, long slow exhale, kiss. Very long, very slow inhale.
“Don’t. Do. What?” I manage to form rough words.
Pain presses into my shoulder, his teeth slipping through my skin, and my moan sinks into a low growl. Which only makes him bite harder, sending bolts of lightning through every dark, painful corner of my body. Hard and alive as everything in me
