Page 20 of Blood and Thorns (Twisted Ever After #1)

Arabella

“I didn’t run,” I whispered, the cold causing shivers to erupt over my exposed skin now that my adrenaline had waned. Sebastian stood there shirtless, blood seeping from his wounds. He showed no signs of goosebumps or discomfort, as if the cold meant nothing.

His head tilted to the side, dark hair escaping from the band to frame his face.

A bruise was already darkening on his cheek, and there was a small cut on his forehead.

There was no expression on his face, but his eyes showed barely contained rage.

He vibrated with it, but there was also something else there.

Like he got excited by the anger and pain.

Taking the bloodied knife he’d just used to kill someone, he dragged it over the centre of my dress, the edge threatening to cut the fabric. My lips parted, and my pulse danced against my skin.

“I didn’t run,” I whispered once again. “I just needed some air.”

I wasn’t sure if he believed me, and I prepared myself for pain, or maybe even death. He’d warned me, and before I thought I’d just accept it without a fight. But now I wasn’t so sure, tightening my fists in preparation to defend myself with everything I had.

Sebastian looked down, and I was pretty sure amusement lightened his eyes, as well as a touch of sadism. Dropping the knife, he stepped closer, until my breasts pressed against his bare chest.

With his free hand he touched my cheek again, and this time I didn’t flinch. I hissed as he touched the scratch, but I knew that was all it was. A scratch.

“Get in the car,” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

I nodded, glancing over at Caden who was talking into his phone. He glared at me when he realised, and I quickly dragged my eyes forward until I came to the car waiting by the curb.

Sebastian was a heavy presence at my back, the tension between us stretching in the silence until it was pulled so taut it wrapped around me like a noose.

He remained silent the entire drive, his body coiled so tightly beside mine.

He still hadn’t said another word even when we ascended the lift to his penthouse, or when he guided me down the side corridor I had yet to explore.

I panicked slightly at the sight of the large bed, but he didn’t pause, guiding me into the connecting bathroom.

If I thought my bathroom was big, this one was ridiculous. A large double shower was in the corner, and the bath was big enough to fit several people. Or maybe just someone as big as him.

Still no words were spoken as he pulled at the hem of my dress, and unable to control my shaking, I let him. I wore nothing beneath, the cool air pebbling my nipples.

He didn’t even look at me, instead reaching over to turn on the shower until steam billowed. Moving almost mechanically, he removed his shorts, and I couldn’t help but look down. Only to immediately jerk my eyes up to his chest as he stepped us back, closing the shower door around us.

Fucking hell.

He was clearly well proportioned, and if that wasn’t an inappropriate thought right now, I didn’t know what was. A blush prickled my cheeks, and I dipped my head in hopes he hadn’t noticed.

I didn’t need him thinking I was checking out his dick while we were both naked in the shower. After I’d just been attacked and he’d just been sliced with a knife.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Because no way should I still be thinking about his dick, or my own body’s reaction to it, while fear still coated my tongue. Worse was the way heat curled low in my stomach, seemingly awakened by the danger.

It was wrong. Completely messed up.

There was me, trying to ignore the sudden throbbing between my legs while Sebastian was clearly having a moment. His breathing was heavy, uneven.

His muscles were rigid as he placed both his palms on the tiles on either side of my head. It was as if he was trying to steady himself, to drag his emotions back under control. A perfectly reasonable response, given the circumstances.

Unlike me who, despite everything, couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like if he directed all that anger into something else.

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

Was I having a trauma response? Or was I just unwell?

Hesitantly, I reached up, only for his hands to encircle my wrists so fast I gave an undignified squeak. There was a beat, a moment where he tightened his fingers, and my bones strained beneath the pressure. But then he released me.

His eyes darkened, and I knew not to try and touch him again.

Confident I understood, his muscles seemed to finally relax, the hot water hitting his back until the pool at our feet was no longer a rusty red.

He pulled me beneath the stream, and my shivers immediately stopped. I tipped my head back, letting the warm water wash everything away. Sebastian pulled the band from my hair until the strands fell heavily against my shoulders.

Unable to look at him, I closed my eyes, which was arguably worse, because now I could only concentrate on the way he touched me. On his fingers in my hair, stroking, brushing as he washed.

There was a scratch against my skin, and my eyes flew open to find him washing me with a cloth. His fingers kept going back to my cheek, and then to my ribs just beneath my left breast where I was sure there would be a bruise. One of the men had hit me, but I didn’t remember who.

It didn’t matter now, considering they were all dead.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not even sure what I was apologising for.

His dark blue eyes met mine, but he still didn’t say anything.

The silence kept stretching, vibrating with an unacknowledged awareness. My body was still too warm, my thighs pressing together in a subtle, futile attempt to ease some of the pressure building there. A slow, pulsing ache that had no right and made no sense given the circumstance.

Why the hell was I turned on?

I was confused, frustrated with my body because this definitely wasn’t the right time. It would never be the right time. And yet, my body didn’t seem to care. It responded like it had a mind of its own, completely at odds with the tension tightening in my chest.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know they were–”

“Give me your hands.” Sebastian reached for my arm.

I was weirdly relieved to hear his voice, because then maybe he wasn’t as furious as he was earlier. Holding up my hands, I tensed when he carefully cleaned the grazes with the cloth. I tried to hold back my grimace, the pain stinging.

Sebastian nodded to himself, then finished washing us both before he turned the shower off and reached for a towel.

He dried me first, far gentler than I expected of him before he dried himself.

His cuts looked worse, still seeping as he left me standing in his bathroom while he returned to his room.

Wiping across the condensation on the mirror, I checked my face and the small scratch that would likely be gone within the week. My body was a little bruised, but otherwise okay. I didn’t actually think Lennon would’ve done anything, his friends there as nothing more than a threat.

Gabriel’s ready to forgive you, but only if you beg.

Gabriel could go fuck himself.

Sebastian appeared in the reflection behind me wearing a pair of grey jogging bottoms and nothing else. Before I could react he handed me a T-shirt. I put it on, realising from its size that it must be his. It was long enough to reach my knees, the fabric smelling faintly like him.

Sebastian stalked back out of the bathroom, and I followed, finding he’d lit the fire at the foot of his bed, a great leather armchair facing it. A table had been set up beside him, as well as two cups of steaming tea. Did that mean I was supposed to stay?

The smiley older lady must have been in, because her silver tray was there, as was a medical kit. Sebastian had already taken a seat in the great armchair, using an antiseptic wipe to dab at the largest slice across his chest.

I hesitantly approached, but he didn’t even look up.

“Let me.” I slowly reached for the wipe, but he pulled it away with a slight grumble. He didn’t seem to like touch, not unless he initiated it. “Please, let me help.”

His eyes narrowed, but he finally relented when I dropped to my knees beside him. But then he watched me like a hawk, his body like granite as if he was forcing himself to remain still. I gently cleaned the slice, careful not to touch anywhere else.

“Thank you,” I whispered against the crackling of the flames. “You know, for helping me.”

“You shouldn’t have run.” Sebastian’s voice was deeper, his anger still evident.

“I don’t like violence.” The way he’d found me in the crowd had caught me off guard, and I’d panicked. “But I wasn’t running away.”

Sebastian still hasn’t relaxed, his fingers curling onto the armchair so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if he left indents. His muscles tensed, causing one of the other cuts to bleed.

“You should call a doctor,” I murmured.

“No.”

“Are you telling me the great Sebastian Devereaux doesn’t have a doctor on retainer?” I clicked my tongue, looking up to find him unamused.

No sense of humour. Noted.

“The cuts aren’t deep enough to need stitches, and another scar isn’t going to make much of a difference.” He delivered the statement with such a lack of emotion, I froze.

He continued to stare down at me, his lashes low, but his expression was now calm.

Shaking my head, I returned to cleaning his skin. There were a few fresh bruises darkening his ribs, so I was careful not to add any pressure when I placed a bandage on the longest slice and taped it in place.

“Why do you fight?” I asked, covering the second cut lower across his abs.

He didn’t answer. Not that I expected him to.

Doing the same to the cut on his arm, I sat back on my heels, tossing the bloody wipes onto the table before I stood.

There was a slight tension in his jaw when he pulled me forward, forcing me to straddle his thighs.

Luckily the armchair was big enough that I could push both my knees into the cushion beside his hips.

The T-shirt rode up, and I was suddenly conscious I wore nothing beneath the fabric. Sebastian’s hands came down on my hips when I went to scramble off, his fingers pressing into my bare skin.

“You asked me to stop.” He said it like it was a question.

“I did,” I replied carefully. “I didn’t want you to kill him.”

There wasn’t even a pause before he continued. “Why? Because you cared for him?”

I wanted to laugh, but that would look like I was losing it–I was–but I couldn’t show weakness while in the enemy’s lap. “I hate him, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.” I didn’t think so, anyway.

“Who was he?” he growled, the sound straining the air between us. His hand came up to collar the back of my neck, thumb reaching around to stroke along the bottom of my jaw.

“Lennon. Gabriel sent him to offer me a deal.”

Sebastian stilled beneath me, his palm rigid against my skin. “What was the deal?”

“Does it matter? I refused, and Lennon got angry. Now he’s dead. ”

Sebastian’s fingers tightened enough to bruise. “What was the deal, Arabella?”

My voice was quiet when I answered. “For me to go back to him.”

Sebastian’s nostrils flared, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Is that what you want?”

“No.”

His attention was like a weight along my skin, overwhelming to the point of intimidation. Internally I was terrified, but externally I tried to keep myself as calm so as not to agitate him any further.

“Have you decided if you’re going to kill me?” I asked before I’d even realised the question had passed my lips, because fuck me, I didn’t actually want to know the answer.

Sebastian leaned forward, and I carefully moved my hands away so I didn’t accidentally touch him. “Keep testing me and find out.”