Page 193

The cloth was soakedwith blood.

Shay kept pressure on her fingers as she pushed open the glass door to the one and only drugstore in the community of Torrance, Roman and Paxton following behind her.

After the attack at the motel, and after deeming it unsafe to stay in Arbor for any length of time beyond how long it took to pack their things, they had driven the short distance to the town of Torrance. Roman had used his magic to get the car back on the road, the shattered glass fitted together in the windows like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. It wasn’t perfect, the glass flawed in spots and the bumpers dented, but at least the car was drivable.

Now, all they had to do was stop the bleeding in her hand.

“Yeah, we’re in,” Roman was saying into his phone, his husky voice echoing as they walked through the dark store. “No, we should be good now. Yeah. Sure, I’ll call you when we’re close. You, too. Thanks, Kylar.” He hung up and slipped his phone into the back pocket of his blood-stained jeans.

Their footsteps clapped as they walked to the pharmacy at the back of the store, the space faintly lit with a couple of security lights.

Shay took a seat on the prescription pick-up counter while Roman grabbed things off the shelves—gauze, saline solution, medical tape. Paxton wandered to the public blood pressure kiosk machine to play with the inflatable cuff, its whirring soon filling the building. His backpack sat discarded at his feet, Itzel zipped up safely in the main internal compartment. After the shooting in the motel room, the Hob was being a lot more cooperative.

As if sensing Shay’s attention, the Hob unzipped the backpack from the inside and poked her head out, her pink eyes glowing in the dark.

Roman noticed her right away. “Itzel!” he barked from across the area, his hands full of medical supplies. “Get back in there.”

Itzel ducked back inside and zipped herself in.

As Shay waited for Roman, she shut her eyes, her head pounding. A migraine was the last thing she needed right now, but she had to admit she was in the best place for one, the shelves stocked with every type of painkiller and suppressant on the market. She’d need to remember to grab extras before leaving. And maybe some ice packs and a heating pad.

The sound of Roman dumping items on the counter beside her prompted her to open her eyes. He stood before her, close enough to feel his aura and the welcoming warmth radiating off of him. Close enough that the front of his thighs brushed against her knees.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he started ripping open packages. “Still got all your fingers?” When she didn’t respond, her stomach turning as the reality of what they had just lived through finally set in, he frowned and said, “Bad joke?” He rolled his sleeves up his forearms, the lean muscle flecked with silvery scars that were barely visible through his ink, and gestured for her to let him see her hand. “Let me see.”

She carefully placed her hand—still wrapped up tight in a bloody rag—in Roman’s. As he unwound the rag, exposing her blood-slick fingers, Shay turned her head the other way.

“How bad is it?” she croaked, her eyes shutting again.

Roman gently turned her hand from side to side. He sighed through his nose, his breath coasting across her cheek. “Well, I count five fingers, so notthatbad. You’re missing a little chunk of your pinky, though.”

Her eyes flew open.“Seriously?”she seethed.

“Yeah, look—on the side here.” He gestured to a tiny indentation in the outer portion of her littlest finger. The flesh was mangled. Raw.

She scowled. “Those bastards.”

“It’s better than the whole finger.” She couldn’t argue with that. He finished his prep, and then he started cleaning her wounds.

Gods, it stung. He was gentle, yes, but gentle only went so far when you were missing a piece of your finger. Bastards, indeed. No wonder her hellseher healing hadn’t sealed this shut yet. Her ribs were almost better, though.

She cleared her throat. “I guess this is a little better than a ripped shirt, hey?” she teased, swallowing another wave of nausea. Yep, that was definitely a migraine coming on. Joy.

Roman gave her a look that could only be described as disinterest. It wiped Shay’s smile right off her face.

Had anything about their time in the desert together fazed this man? Or was she the only one who’d fallen pathetically hard?

As Roman worked, Shay watched his handsome face to distract herself from the agony searing through every bone, every muscle, everyhair. That was how much pain she was in, even herhairhurt. She was still feeling the effects of being whipped like a rag-doll against the exterior wall of the motel byPaxton’s magic, a blast of deathly power they were extremely fortunate to have survived.

But gods, was Roman’s face ever a distraction—almost too much of one. Being this close to him, even in the dark, she could see every flake of gold in his eyes…the faint silver scars flecking his jaw, nose, and cheeks…all the minuscule details of the black skull of Obitus tattooed on his strong cheekbone…

As she stared, her body warming as she took him in feature by feature, scar by scar, those honeyed eyes suddenly locked on hers.

“You’re making me blush, pup.” His voice was a low, husky croon that madeherface redden.

She snort-laughed. “If you call a dead stareblushing,then sure, okay.” When he shot her a quizzical look, she clarified, “I see zero color on your face, Shadows. Unless you’re talking about the blood.” Indeed, his face, while emotionless—and did she mention gorgeous beyond belief?—was filthy.

The corner of his mouth pulled up into an involuntary, lopsided smile, the expression deepening the small scar on his cheek.