“Help me get him in the shower and then you take care of Daniel.”
Tristan plucked Mark out of her arms like he was a child and brought him to the shower, laying him down. Looking back at her, she could see for a moment his fear and anguish. “Take care of him.”
“I will,” she whispered.
And then, the big man left.
Shedding her bloody clothes, she entered the shower, turning on the water. Mark hissed and thrashed, but she tried to shield him as much as she could while the water heated up. Then, carefully, she tore his clothes off and set them outside the shower.
The wounds that covered him were stomach-churning. The slices, careful and painful, covered every inch of his body.
“Fucking angels,” she hissed.
“Kill me,” he begged, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“No,” she whispered, lying beside him on the massive floor of the shower, she watched as the blood washed from him, coloring the water.
He shook under her touch, but she stroked him slowly. She knew some angels were capable of healing. Of taking away pain, but she wasn’t sure how. The only thing she could do was stay with him as his body worked to knit itself back together. She prayed he would fall asleep soon. He’d heal faster if he could.
But the druid didn’t sleep. He pleaded in a soft, pained voice for her to end his life.
She held him in the water, pretending tears weren’t running down her face.
When he finally passed out, she began to sob. No one should hurt like this. No one should beg for death. Certainly not her sweet Mark.
Never him.
Even when the water grew cold, she lay with him, watching his wounds in fear. They would heal. They had to heal. Only cutting his head off would kill him. Right?
She found herself unsure as she realized that not a single wound was closing. They remained open, bleeding, more than a body should be able to endure.
Swallowing, she pressed her forehead against his, begging him to be okay. With a soft touch, she rubbed her lips against his.
Should her heart really ache this much? Should she really feel this frightened?
Am I falling in love with him?
She thought of her demons. There was still so much she didn’t understand about them. So many mysteries surrounding them. Yet, she felt something powerful for them, something that hurt for her to think about.
When she lightly kissed him again, she felt the strangest tingle pass between them. Mark shifted and groaned beneath her, not in pleasure exactly, but not in pain.
Curious, she kissed him again and again. The feeling only intensified.
When she looked down at his wounds, they’d stopped bleeding. Staring, she watched in silent wonder as they slowly began to knit back together.
Is it my kiss? Is it helping him? She wasn’t sure if it was some magic she didn’t understand, or the strength of their bond, but hours passed, and Mark’s body was no longer a sea of wounds, but scars.
When Tristan came some time later, his gaze ran over them, lying together naked.
“Is Daniel okay?”
Tristan nodded. “He’s still asleep, but his wound looks good.”
She looked down at Mark’s pale face. “Should we get him into bed?”
“That would be wise.”
Turning off the water, they did their best to dry him, then she dried herself.
Laying him down in her bed, she touched his chest. “I think I’m going to sleep in here with him.”
“He would like that.”
It took her hours to fall asleep, but when she did, she didn’t wake in the night drenched in sweat. Imagining Caine in her room, burning her mind. She awoke in the morning, a slight breeze moving the white curtains where her balcony doors stood open.
When she sat up slightly and looked at Mark, he was awake. His gaze met hers.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes. “You’re okay.”
He said nothing.
“I’m sorry. I know you were hurting. I know you wanted me to… you wanted me to—“
He reached up, his hands digging into the back of her hair, and pulled her down to him.
Their kiss was earth-shattering, a power that moved through her and him. His lips were strong, aggressive. And when his tongue dove into hers, she moaned.
This man knew how to kiss. He knew how to shatter her thoughts with his touch.
When his hand slid down her neck, trailing along the sensitive skin of her throat, and then caressed her breasts, she arched into his touch. Within seconds, his fingers brushed her nipples, and she gasped. He played with her tips as his kiss grew more intense.
With her head swimming, she pulled back. “You’re hurt.”
“Then, I guess you’ll have to be gentle,” he growled.
Her gaze met his. This was the demon. Not the gentle man or the druid, but the demon who wanted to claim what was his.
But what if she hurt him?
As if in answer, his hand moved from her breasts, sliding over her belly.
She tensed as he stroked her womanhood, and then one finger moved inside of her. He stroked her slowly, sending her nerves exploding in little bursts. When he moved into her opening, she spread her legs wider, whimpering.
Her eyes closed, and she arched against him. Her release was so close, building like something powerful.
And then she realized something, he was the one who had been through so much. Not her. She should make him feel like this. Not the other way around.
Opening her eyes, she pushed his hand away.
“Surcy?”
Pulling the sheet down, she revealed his massive erection. Swallowing, she stared and stared. She hadn’t known what to expect from the shy man. But this was not it.
“God, how do you fit that into normal pants?”
He chuckled, a low aroused sound that was completely unexpected.
Kissing his chest, she lightly brushed her lips against all of the still-healing scars.
He groaned and buried his hand in
