Page 43 of Endless Anger (Monsters Within #1)

“Aurora never promised to stay by my—” Gritting my teeth until a sharp pain shoots through each root, I stop myself. “You know what? I’m not doing this with you. Nothing in our past even matters now. I came to Avernia to forget about you and all the other bullshit.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much better in the present though. ”

This part, he says quietly, and I wonder if it’s to soften the blow. But the jab lands anyway, right in the center of my aching chest.

“Yeah, well,” I reply, pushing against his wound with more force, “some things just don’t change, do they?”

We fall silent, and I pull the towel away, exhaling when I see the bleeding has slowed down.

Tossing the soiled paper into the trash, I put my hands on my wet hips, watching as he inspects the cut in the mirror. “You might need stitches again.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He points at a first aid kit on a sink, then pulls the top open, grabbing a handful of gauze.

My stomach tenses, flipping as he rips open the first packet with his teeth. Twisting, he tries to get a good angle, but the laceration is far enough back on his side that he can’t seem to reach it well.

Rolling my eyes, I suck on the inside of my cheek and push his hands out of the way once more, lifting the hem of his jacket and sweater.

I keep going, exposing his toned abdomen and the lean muscle lacing his back, and he lets out a strange noise.

“Are you undressing me, pup?”

“Shut up and take your shirt off.”

He quickly obeys, shrugging out of the clothes and letting them fall to the floor.

My heart thumps a staccato rhythm, beating hard against my ribs, as I take the gauze from him. Holding up the roll of medical tape, I stretch out the length for what I need and raise it to his mouth.

Leaning forward, Asher pulls back his lips, baring his teeth, and bites through the tape.

Slowly, the piece tears in two.

A pulse awakens between my legs, and I do my best to suppress the tremor that wrecks my fingers.

I bring my hands to his side again, patching him up the way I’ve done hundreds of times before. The only difference is that now we know what the other looks like when we come .

“You gonna tell me what really happened?” I ask, pressing the last piece of tape to the edge of the bandage.

His shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Ever start a fight and realize too late that you’re the only one without a weapon?”

Scoffing, I bring my eyes to his. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve never been in a fight in my life.”

“Except with me.”

“Well, that’s different. I was always safe with you.”

The words come out before I can stop them or fully weigh their meaning. Heat scalds my face, inching down my neck and blooming bright in the center of my stomach like a field of daisies.

One of the sink faucets drips slowly. Asher doesn’t reply, and I step back, taking a second to check my handiwork. I smooth my fingers over the gauze before I realize what I’m doing.

Asher’s breath hitches, and mine seems to get caught in my throat.

Clearing it, I let my hand fall. “I find it hard to believe Foxe would stab you.”

“Not Foxe.” He moves closer to the sink, turning his ear to inspect the piercings there and then his nose ring. “Some Curator trash.”

Hearing him talk about the Curators like that makes my heart skip a beat. Somewhere, deep down, I hope it was Beckett. “Why are you fighting with Curators?”

He shrugs. “Seems like some of them need a little humility.”

“But they stabbed you.”

“Barely even a graze.”

I push my index finger into the gauze, watching blood swarm to soak the spot. Asher hisses through clenched teeth, whipping around and grabbing my wrist, yanking me into him.

“It won’t stop hurting if you keep poking it.”

My chin lifts. “Maybe I don’t want it to stop hurting.”

His chest heaves, his grip on me ironclad. I wouldn’t be able to get away right now even if I wanted to, and it takes several seconds of silent self-reflection for me to admit that I don’t want to .

Despite my anger and loneliness.

Right here, in Asher’s orbit, it’s warm.

Safe.

I’d stay forever if it didn’t mean forgiving him for things he hasn’t apologized for.

Still, he doesn’t release me, and I don’t try to get away.

“You’re gonna be late for your date,” he sneers, his gaze growing angry.

“How do you even know about that?”

“When it comes to you, I do my research.”

“Is that why you’re here? To keep me from going?”

Sighing, he drags me in front of him, turning on the sink until steam rises from the flowing water. He fiddles with the cold handle, as if looking for a balance, and then pushes my hips into the sink.

I grunt, catching myself on the edge of the bowl. “Excuse you.”

Seconds later, I feel his hand on the back of my head. Fear lashes down my back like a whip, immobilizing me for the briefest moment.

My eyes are level with the faucet when he lowers my face into the bowl, turning me to the side. He lets go again, taking one of the red sections of my hair in both hands.

Gently, he brings the dyed pieces beneath the spray, coaxing the color out with long, nimble fingers.

Crimson water fills the sink, and my vision starts to spin as thoughts of Celeste begin making their way in, trudging up from my throat and threatening to sew it shut?—

“Close your eyes.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I do as he says, cutting off that sense from the increasing discomfort.

The only problem now is that I’m hyperaware of him , especially as he moves so his legs bracket mine, his groin grinding against my hip.

I don’t feel what I did that day in his dorm, but I remember how it felt—how thick and long he seemed—and arousal burns behind the wall of my chest, flowing into my belly and making it hard to remain standing .

We don’t speak as he starts to put more of my hair beneath the spray, massaging my scalp with the blunt ends of his fingertips. My breathing gets heavier, and I grip the sink tighter, trying to ignore the storm of volatile emotions swirling in my stomach.

Eventually, he shuts off the water and then spends a few extra minutes wringing out my wet hair. His fingers wrap around the strands, pulling at the roots like a squeegee, and I bite my tongue as I pretend the gesture doesn’t feel amazing.

There’s no way he’d let me live down a moan right now.

One of his hands finds my back, and he presses softly on my spine at the same time as he’s squeezing water from my hair.

My eyes pop open, and I swallow. A shiver skates across my skin.

Asher clears his throat, stepping away. I stand upright, letting out a wobbly breath, and meet his dark gaze in the mirror.

His stare this time is heated. Fiery. I feel it all the way in my toes.

Slowly, I turn around to face him, realizing a second too late that he didn’t move far. My shoulder grazes his chest, and I tilt my chin, letting my eyes soak in the strain of muscles in his neck, the splash of dried blood on his jaw, and the scar through his lip.

He gulps audibly, lifting a hand to my face. His thumb swipes over my cheek, then my ear, and he pulls away to show me the red droplets there on his skin.

I can’t focus on anything except how close he is, how good he smells.

“Luce,” he says in the lowest voice. It’s almost a whisper. “Can I…”

My mouth is dry as a desert. “I should be getting to my date.”

Something shifts in his expression, turning sinister. “Don’t.”

“Why?” I quirk a brow, the most movement I can manage. “Are you jealous or some?—”

“Yes.”

He steps in, our chests brushing. Bending down, he plants his hands on either side of the sink, trapping me.

“Yes, I’m jealous . I want to be the only one who ever sees you this close. ”

His hand finds my jaw, angling my head as he leans in.

My chest tightens.

“The only one who touches you like this.”

Unsticking my tongue from the roof of my mouth becomes a priority. My gaze darts between his lips and his intense stare, unsure of which to land on.

I should stop him. When he leans in, his eyelashes flutter like he’s as nervous as me, and I’m completely stuck, unable to do anything except breathe and watch, my desperation rooting me in place.

“Let me kiss you,” he exhales, his fingers sliding over my skin. “Please. If you still want to go on your date after, I’ll step aside, but… Fuck, Luce, I need to kiss you right now.”

Conscious thought becomes increasingly difficult, but there are dozens of little alarm bells screeching in my mind, warning me away from him. Since he’s been back, he’s done nothing but cause trouble, and while I’m used to it from him, there’s also been a severe lack of explanation.

No apologies. No evidence of remorse for ditching me and getting me framed for a crime.

It’s like one day, Asher decided he was going to be my best friend again, and nothing else mattered. None of the in-between was important enough for him to consider.

Swallowing over the knot in my throat, I lift my hands to his chest, flattening my palms. “Does it feel like you might die if you don’t kiss me?”

Say yes. Let me know I’m not alone at least.

He nods. Inches closer.

I shove him backward, using every ounce of strength and the advantage of surprise to twist away from him.

“Then die.”

Spinning on my heels, I aim for the door, launching myself through it. I get back out to the library, weaving between two aisles, but Asher’s faster than me. He grabs my wrist, pushing me against a bookcase .

Forcing me around to face him, his hands immediately cup my cheeks, and he lets out a deviant laugh that ricochets inside my chest.

“Only if you kill me for this,” he says before sealing his mouth to mine.