But that’s a fool’s dream.
She may not have faked her orgasms with me, but as she’s so keen to remind me, everything else was a job to her. She doesn’t share the emotional attachment I have, and I’m a fool for developing one in the first place.
None of that matters right now. “Let me take care of you.” I keep my voice low and even. “Just until you feel steadier on your feet. Please, Eve.”
She opens her mouth, obviously intent on denying us both, but finally sighs. “It means nothing.”
“I know.” I set her down on the stool next to the tub and reach past her to get the water going. There’s nothing else to say. I need to question the single enemy left alive. If I can find where Brosh is hiding, can figure out exactly how extensive the network of betrayal is . . .
But that’s a problem for later. Right now, there’s a woman who will never be mine in truth who has agreed to accept my care.
The tub fills fast. I reach for her shirt, but pause. “May I?”
Something flickers across her face that’s almost humor. “Azazel, you’ve seen me naked more times than I care to count. Don’t tell me you’re getting shy now.”
There are dozens of answers to that, none of them good enough to speak. Instead, I carefully pull her shirt over her head—and freeze at the sight of the bruise already darkening across her ribs. I drift my fingers through the air above the purple-and-green mark from where the bargainer held her as they tried to escape. “I have something that will help this if you’ll allow it.”
“Considering it hurts enough to make breathing difficult, I wouldn’t say no to medical care.”
“Don’t move.” I walk to the cabinet and dig through the drawers until I come up with the balm that was designed . . . Well, best not to think of that right now. No matter its intended use, it’s still good for surface-level injuries of all varieties, and while it won’t get to the deeper parts of the bruise right away, it will help her pain levels.
I return to where Eve sits and crouch in front of her. It puts her breasts at face level, which would be easier to ignore if the bruise didn’t stretch across her ribs just beneath her gloriously full . . . Stop. “Can you lift your arms over your head?”
In response, she does exactly that, then rests her forearms on the top of her head. My gaze catches on her rosy nipples, and I have to inhale carefully. Damn it, this was a terrible idea. I could have just given her the balm and allowed her to put it on herself. Backing out now isn’t an option, though. No matter how ill-advised this is.
I dip my fingers into the balm and carefully drag them over the middle of the bruise. She sucks in a surprised breath. “It tingles.”
“I know.” I do my very damnedest to not think about the other ways that tingle can be used to amplify pleasure, to . . . Fuck. I massage the balm into her skin gently, ensuring I don’t put too much pressure on the injury.
It takes an eternity. It takes no time at all.
“There.” I sit back on my heels and put the lid back on. “Put another coat on it in the morning, and you should be good as new.”
“Thanks.”
I need to move, to stand, to put some distance between us—not measure the steady rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes. Staying here a moment longer is both the greatest and worst idea in the world. I want to tug off her pants, to scour her body for any further scrapes or bruises. To . . . kiss her better.
As if she could possibly view my touch as anything other than punishment.
I jerk to my feet. “I think you have it from here. I need to question the . . .” Surviving attacker. Saying that will only remind her of my capacity for violence. I never wanted her to see that. I’m not ashamed of the things I’ve done to protect this territory, this realm, this woman, but I do regret that it only further confirms her negative vision of me.
In keeping her safe, I’ve lost her forever.
As long as she’s still breathing, still fighting, then it’s a price worth paying. Even if she hates me. Even if she ends up searching out the company of another.
Eve doesn’t call me back as I leave the bathroom. I linger outside that door for a few extra beats in hope that she will. But she doesn’t.
I swallow my sigh and leave her room, tugging the door gently shut behind me. I pause there. “Go easy on her. It’s not her fault that she’s upset about being here. She’s entitled to feel the way she does about me. And the rest of us can work to be more welcoming.”
The castle gives no response, but I don’t truly expect one. I head down the hall and then descend a narrow set of stairs to the dungeon. Ramanu is already there, their mouth drawn into a tight line. “We have a problem.”
I follow their motion to see a body laid out on the floor. The cause of death is clear enough from the red-flecked foam at their mouth. Poison. “This seems extreme, even for Brosh.”
“I agree.” They cross their arms over their chest and shift from foot to foot. “I don’t like leaving you and the others. I can postpone—”
“It will be fine,” I say with a confidence I don’t quite feel. I know how much the murderous little witch intrigues Ramanu, and they’ve put their interests on hold time and time again to help me. The witch has been gathering supplies to summon them, so it’s only a matter of time before she does. I can’t hold them back from that, no matter how inconvenient the timing.
They hesitate but finally nod. “How is Eve?”
“Shaken up and bruised, but otherwise fine.” Fine. Such a neat little word that means absolutely nothing at all. She’s not fine. She may never be again. Because of my choices, my selfishness. If I’d taken care of Brosh when I realized he was a problem . . . If I’d demonstrated enough control to stay away from Eve . . .
It’s too late to go back now.
I hate that I’m grateful for that fact. I hate that I don’t know if I’d make different decisions even if I had the choice to change things. She may hate me, but she’s here.
I truly am the monster she thinks.
CHAPTER 9
EVE
Ican’t sleep.
It’s not the bruise, which still radiates a faint ache through my ribs with each breath, that keeps me awake; that’s healing faster than I could have imagined. I don’t know what magic is in the balm Azazel used, but it works and works well.
It’s not that Ramanu unquestionably killed a person right in front of me. For reasons unknown, that doesn’t shift my perspective of them at all. Maybe because I don’t have a tangled mass of conflicting emotions in my chest when I think of Ramanu. I believe we could be friends, given some time, but I have no desire for more than that with them.
With Azazel?
He killed someone too. Someone who was trying to take me. He came running the moment there was trouble, without hesitation. More than that . . . I glare up at my ceiling. This may not be the route I would have chosen, but Azazel is a king. He has so many more lives to worry about than just mine. He could have let his enemy take me. It would have been easy. A preventable death, but it would have closed any weakness for Brosh to exploit.
But he didn’t. He saved me. He keeps saving me.
I roll over for the hundredth time, but no matter how comfortable my bed is, I can’t escape the thoughts lingering in the back of my mind. I should hate Azazel. I do hate him. He’s protecting me from danger that his presence created. But the danger is true enough. I don’t want to die.