Page 21

What are you looking at?

“You have an appointment with Physician Klars today,” NAID announced not long after I’d woken up.

I’d actually slept, with Don’s help, and for the first time in I don’t know how long, I felt rested.

However, I didn’t want to leave my room.

I found as time passed that I wanted to do nothing more than curl into a ball and sleep or pretend I didn’t exist.

So NAID’s proclamation about my appointment was met with deep loathing.

I had to get more treatment for the disease that…

that I’d gotten. I swallowed the sudden bile that was climbing my throat in a burning wave.

I stood and went straight to the bathroom.

Mechanically, I stripped out of my sweats and climbed into the shower and turned the pouring water up to the highest temperature I could stand.

The burning water made my pale skin redden, but I didn’t care. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed with a cloth like it could rid me of the imaginary fingers grasping my arms or erase the filth that had clung to me.

Dropping the cloth, I sank to the stone floor of the shower and hugged my knees to my chest. I simply breathed under the scalding hot waterfall.

The rocks in the shower had little plants and moss growing on them and the rough, jutting stone bench on one end of the shower both added to the outdoors feel.

It was almost like I wasn’t shoved into a metal box hurtling through foreign space but was rather on a vacation somewhere on Earth.

I could pretend, even for a moment, that I was home, that nothing had happened, that I was safe.

My head pressed against my knees, and I pretended. Fuck, how I pretended.

But there was only so long I could sit under the burning water before I had to move forward.

Actually, I would’ve sat there all day, but NAID reminded me once again of my appointment and stirred me into action.

My every movement was precise as a numbness filled me.

I yanked on ripped black leggings, then pulled on a short pleated black skirt, another band crop top, and finished the outfit with a fishnet shrug.

I glanced at my reflection, and my bruised eyes were the first thing I noticed. My eyes had always been so dark brown that they appeared black, but now, they looked bleak, wounded, broken.

A growl built in my chest, and I lashed out, punching the glass. It shattered; my image fractured and the screen shorted in lines of color. Panting, I stared at my destroyed reflection and hatred swelled in my chest like a balloon, pushing everything else out.

Screaming, I punched the screen again and again and again.

Images flashed before my eyes. My burnt hands helping Teddy throw groaning people into the flames of the incinerator; their screams rang in my ears.

The stinging thwack of Agk hitting me with a baton.

My nose bleeding. Agk selling me to Tryk and being pushed into a small dark cell.

My stomach eating itself. The snap of my finger after I’d smacked someone.

A person on top of me. My tears dripping down my cheeks.

Dark. So much darkness. It never ended. There was no light. I would never see the light.

“Stop,” a deep voice said.

I couldn’t, though. There were still fragments of my face covered in red. The screams kept escaping my lips as my fists connected with the broken, winking screen. It was mocking me.

Bands of iron surrounded me and drew me into a soothing warmth. My breath sawed in and out as I trembled. Head bowed, I sobbed. The tears wouldn’t stop pouring down my cheeks.

“I am here,” Don whispered, his forehead resting on the back of my head. “I am here. You are not alone, Little Warrior.”

More tears slid down my cheeks, and my blurry gaze refused to move from my broken reflection. “Please.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to see.”

A hand covered my eyes while his other arm supported my weight. Don whispered, “You don’t have to look.”

My feet left the ground and my breath whooshed out of my lungs. I was moving, but I couldn’t see anything. Oddly, I didn’t care. Don had me.

Gently, Don set me down on the couch and crouched in front of me.

His eyebrows were drawn together, and his mouth was a hard line.

Not thinking about it, I brushed my fingertips over his forehead to ease the tension.

With a deep inhale, he closed his eyes. I traced his face and left red streaks behind.

Numb, I studied my hands. The knuckles were split and bleeding while my fingers were swollen.

“You hurt yourself,” Don said.

I had. I didn’t feel it, though. My body was distant and my thoughts were deep in a mire that I couldn’t escape.

“Vince.”

I stared at my damaged hands. My broken hands.

“Vince,” Don repeated, voice harsh.

My eyes shot to his. Don stared at me with those huge green eyes of his. I rested my palm over them. Right now, I couldn’t handle the pity that must be there.

“There is no pity,” he replied to my thoughts. “Only concern. You harmed yourself.”

“I’m fine,” I said, voice light.

“You are not.”

“I am.”

Carefully, he pulled my hand away from his eyes and grabbed my other, so both were trapped in his much larger ones. I felt him. I felt the warmth of him seeping into my cold digits.

“I must apologize for touching you without permission,” Don said, and I tightened my hold on him, afraid he would pull away.

I had missed this—touching with no expectation of more.

I was starved for it, yet terrified of it.

Pathetic. “No.” Don drew closer, his head near mine.

“No, Little Warrior. Not pathetic. Never that. You’re fighting a battle right now. A battle of the mind.”

A tear slid down my cheek, and I looked away.

He brushed it away before snagging my hand again. “Please don’t harm yourself.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I snapped. “I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t contradict me.

I kept tight hold of his hands, leaning closer so I could breathe in the comforting sweetness of his scent. It was similar to vanilla, and yet… softer, lighter somehow. I closed my eyes and breathed. I needed to let what happened go. It didn’t matter.

Don started to hum a low tune, and I relaxed even further until my forehead rested against his.

Slowly, awareness crept back into my body, and with it, a deep throbbing stab from my damaged hands. I was fairly certain I’d broken something, but the bleeding had finally stopped.

“I got blood on you,” I whispered.

Don lifted my damaged hand to his mouth and pressed it against his lips. “It’s fine.”

I swallowed.

His eyes flashed up to mine, lips brushing my skin and setting it ablaze. “I would lick these clean if you allowed me to.”

“W-what?” I forced out, pulse in my throat.

“Drakcol have an instinct to clean wounds. I will clean yours, Vince, if you allow me.”

Never in my life had I nodded so fast. The thought of his tongue on my skin… Shudders went down my spine and settled somewhere in the region of my dick.

Gently, Don dragged his black-scaled tongue over my first split knuckle, and I whimpered.

Eyes moving to me, he continued to bathe the injuries so softly.

Under his ministrations my body came alive and tingles, like little shocks of electricity, flitted through my veins and made my heart stumble in my chest.

There was no rush or impatience in his steady movements as Don thoroughly cleaned each wound with painstakingly slow movements. His tongue dragged over me and stole all rational thought until I was panting and whining under his delicate touch.

“Donny,” I whispered, my voice one millimeter away from begging.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t stop.”

The slightest quirk pulled at the corner of his lips, and I moaned. Fuck, I loved that small smile. Don dragged his tongue over my middle knuckle. “I wasn’t planning to, not until you’re clean.”

I would never be clean.

He growled, no more than a rumble in his chest. “You are perfect.”

I scoffed. “I’m an asshole.”

Don kissed my damaged knuckle and repeated, “You are perfect.”

When he said it, I almost believed him.

The metal taste of Vince’s blood was still on my tongue as I escorted him to the medbay.

He hadn’t wanted to go for his hands, though they did need treatment, but to finish his round of injections for the disease he’d contracted during his enslavement.

Vince had asked me to accompany him, his eyes down and body stiff.

I’d accepted, of course; nothing in the universe would’ve pulled me from his side.

Vince walked beside me, so small compared to me, but there was an unbreakable will inside of him that was alluring.

He was strong, yet fragile. The dichotomy was interesting to watch and sense.

His mind was focused on his aching hands, though beneath it was a void of darkness that was slowly consuming him.

It was eating away at Vince, and I wished to rid him of it, but that wasn’t within my power.

People offered me their throats as we strode through the corridors of my ship. I acknowledged each of my subordinates, all while keeping a wary eye out for my brothers. They were already seeing more into my and Vince’s friendship, and I didn’t want to give them more weapons against me.

I swallowed, savoring Vince’s taste on my tongue.

I liked it, more than I would have thought.

More concerning, my instincts demanded that I check his hands and clean them once more, even though I knew I’d been thorough.

Vince needed medical assistance, not me, and yet, my instincts rebelled against such notions.

He needed me. His wounds needed my tongue upon them.

When the medbay door appeared, I paused in my step. “I will remain here.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hear anyway.”

“Yes, but…” Didn’t he desire privacy?