“Chaz,” I repeated, gathering up what remained of my good sense and clutching the memories of his betrayals like a security blanket, “don’t bother. Just... don’t.”
When it became clear I wasn’t about to say anything else, that hopefulness in his expression faded behind a thundercloud of anger. He gave me a wounded look before spinning on a heel and stalking out.
Why did I feel like the asshole in this conversation?
Chapter 22
Left to my own devices, I lay back on the couch and just hurt for a while. It wasn’t particularly productive, but without the others there to distract me, there was too much pain for me to do much more than work on breathing. Nikki came by with a bowl of something that she pushed into my hands, but I wasn’t hungry and didn’t bother eating it.
After a while, long after sunlight had stopped streaming in through the windows to be replaced by moonlight and reflections of city lights, I figured out why my stomach was doing its own protesting version of the Macarena. It wasn’t hunger. I couldn’t stand the smell of myself. Or the ache in my joints. I needed a shower or bath like nobody’s business.
Getting up to take one seemed completely out of the question, but the desperate need to get the stink of the battle with Chaz off of me was my number one priority. I couldn’t think with the smell of him on me. It was there, particularly where he’d touched me when he pushed me down. Right between my breasts.
I couldn’t get clean fast enough.
Though the pain was phenomenal, I carefully rolled on the couch, legs first, so I wouldn’t have to bend my back too much. Experience from the last time I’d busted a few ribs had unfortunately made me expert at figuring out how to get around despite that type of injury. It took a long time, and a few breathless curses, but I made it to my feet without adding any new injuries.
Walking and breathing were pushing me to the limits of my endurance, but I still managed to make my way to the shower. This felt far too close to how badly I’d been beaten after the fight with David Borowsky. Similar to how I had felt after the belt had used up all my reserves and I’d gone looking for the White Hats earlier this month. Perhaps some of this was just a holdover from the belt’s using me up like a battery during the battle with Chaz, draining me to the point of no return.
Lying down in a bath would have been amazing if I could have bent at the waist. Instead I gave the tub a longing look before making do with a shower, peeling the borrowed clothes off and stepping into a spray that was almost too hot to stand. It washed away the dirt and the ash, but no matter how much soap I used, Chaz’s musky scent clung to me.
There was something dark and earthy there, underneath it, like the simple act of touching me had woken something dormant under my skin. It took a while for me to realize that it didn’t matter how many times I washed or scrubbed—it wasn’t coming off.
Was this another sign of me turning? Was I marked by the pack somehow? Turning into a Sunstriker?
Feeling queasy, I stayed under the spray until my skin wrinkled. I couldn’t keep my arms above my head long enough to work shampoo or conditioner into my hair, so I had to make do with a few quick swipes of liquid-covered fingers and hope for the best.
When the water was off, I attempted to wring my hair out, but by then lifting my arms that high was unbearable. I couldn’t even wrap the heavy mass in a towel. The clothes I’d been wearing were too soiled for me to wear again, so I’d have to find something to change into outside the bathroom.
Resuming my zombie-shuffle, I went to the room down the hall that had the dresser with my clothes in it that Keith had brought from the house on City Island, and shut the door behind me. The belt was on top of the dresser, left there for me in a neat coil. There were signs that other people had dropped their things off in here as well. Bags and backpacks, mostly. The smell of Were was overpowering in the enclosed space. I wondered where they were all sleeping.
One thing I hadn’t considered was how hard it was to pull clothing on without help. It had been many months since I’d had to try that after having been beaten to crap. I had the added pain of my spine injury to go along with it this time, too. The more I thought about it, the more I was surprised Dr. Morrow wasn’t hovering over me, and that I was on my feet at all.
The doc hadn’t been around for a while, actually. Maybe he had something to do with whatever that other project was the White Hats had been working on concurrent with dealing with my problems. The project nobody had yet seen fit to tell me about. I had the feeling they never would.
Placing the towel on top of the dresser, I selected another T-shirt, some underwear, and a pair of jeans. The bitch of it was, I couldn’t bend over or put my arms up high enough to put any of it on. Wherever I’d found the strength to get my clothes off before the shower, it had deserted me now.
Tears of frustration pricked behind my eyelids as I leaned against the dresser, balling up the clothing in my fists.
There was a click, and the door opened behind me. I barely had time to grab the towel to cover my nakedness before Chaz walked in.
He shut the door behind him. I snarled at him, clutching the towel closer. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing in here? Get out!”
Expression set, he approached me, reaching out. I grabbed for the belt, yanking out a stake and holding it before me in warning, though every muscle in my body protested at the sudden movements.
He stopped. Closed his eyes and took a breath. Exhaled and opened them again, some of the harsh lines easing out of his features. “Relax. I heard the shower.” Spreading his hands, he nodded at the pile of clothes at my feet. “You’re in no shape to handle that yourself. I knew you’d need help. So here I am.”
I lifted the stake a bit higher, protecting my modesty with the towel as best I could one-handed. Energy of some kind buzzed against my fingertips through the leather. The belt was awake, and it wanted to be used—but Chaz would be able to stop me long before I managed to put it on.
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I hissed. “You haven’t got the right.”
“No? Who do you think changed you? Cleaned you up after the fight?”
Heat suffused my cheeks. I hadn’t wanted to think about it before. Having him throw that in my face was enough to prompt a wish for the floor to open up and swallow me—but I didn’t give any ground.
“Would you prefer I get Nikki? Or maybe Jack—”
“No!” I practically shrieked it. He didn’t seem overly impressed by my outburst. I repeated myself, quieter this time, but no less emphatic. “No. Nikki hates me, and I don’t ever want Jack touching me. Just leave me alone. I’ll deal with it.”
The one raised brow was answer enough.
“I’ll handle it. Just fuck off. Find some other girl to feel up.”
“Christ, what do you take me for? I’m not here to feel you up. I know you need help. Stop acting like a brat and let’s get this over with.”
God, I hated him. Hated this whole situation.
As badly as I wanted to use the stake on him, I couldn’t handle getting dressed by myself. Chaz had helped me with that mundane task, along with a million others, when I’d been recuperating from the fight against the mad sorcerer. He’d managed to keep his hands to himself all those times, waiting patiently until I was ready to do more.
This would be no different. I kept telling myself that as I reached out with a shaking hand to drop the stake on the dresser next to the belt.
He took the towel away—tugging a little, since I’d gripped it with both hands so hard that my knuckles went white—and set it aside. As I stood there, naked, I looked anywhere but at him while he arranged the clothing I’d selected. He helped me balance, not saying anything when I was forced to grab his shoulder as he knelt to lift my feet so I could step into the panties. His grip on my ankles was hot enough that it burned against my skin, even through the heat of my embarrassment.