Page 21 of Hellish Witch (Playing with Demons #3)
Chapter 20
I scowled at the side of Killian’s stupidly pretty face. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
Not that the idea didn’t bring to life too many fantasies to count.
He ignored me, taking the offered key from the pouty demon behind the bar in exchange for a handful of gold coins. You paid half upfront and half on leaving in a place like this.
Part of the inn’s vague claim to “safety” was that they only got full payment if you made it out alive.
Though, if another patron killed you, they charged your murderer an extra cleaning fee. All in all, I was not reassured by their monetary investment in my survival.
Killian turned his wings on the barmaid, who stared dreamily after the demon enforcer, hearts in her eyes. I huffed under my breath, following the stubborn bastard as he made his way for the stairs in the far corner, dripping blood onto their floorboards like it was mere rain.
We climbed the creaking stairs, and I tried not to ogle his firm arse, lovingly hugged by his battered leather trousers.
Instead, I stared at the sinuous joints of his upper back where white wing met slate-purple flesh. A sheathed blade nestled between, running the length of his spine.
The enforcer had sexy back muscles, even bruised and cut up as he was. Given the weight and power of his feathered wings, his toned back was a fires-damned masterpiece.
He reached the top of the stairs, head swivelling as if he expected an attack from any closed door we passed along the corridor.
To be fair to him, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had popped out from a room and tried to stab me for no reason.
Since the inn edged the Bloodwood, hordes of passing travellers and merchants frequented the place. Many were as bloodthirsty as they were prejudiced. At least most knew the Hybrid Kingdom was close by and that we would defend and avenge our own with brutal force.
It made it far safer for our kind.
We walked to our room in silence, and Killian unlocked the simple blackwood door, raked through with claw-marks in another show of how safe the inn was.
He stepped in first, flaring his wings like a barrier. Shielding me, as always.
I huffed at the feathered wall. It only highlighted his overprotectiveness, or my apparent lack of defensive skill.
Or both.
“How many assassins are lying in wait this time? Ten? Twenty?” I drawled.
He folded his feathered beauties tight to his back, shooting me a wry smirk over an arched joint. “Such a brat,” he tutted. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
My cheeks flamed.
Of course, he didn’t mean it like that, but my stupid hormones were always up for a little delusion.
The room was a simple affair of redwood flooring and dark timber furniture, all courtesy of the Bloodwood. A dresser leaned against one scratched wall, a broken mirror resting atop it, shards littering the surface like pulled fangs.
A low bed lurked in the corner beneath a shuttered window. It gave us a peek at the dusky sky between towering, blood-drenched trees. At least a healthy number of furs layered the bed, in all shades and shapes, to ward off the chill prickling the air with night’s approach.
The bedside table held a plastic box with a faded red cross painted on top. A discarded med kit from the human realm was just the kind of reassuring thing you wanted to come as standard with your room.
For once, I was grateful though. Apparently, all I had now were the clothes on my back and the poisoned knives strapped to my thighs, my pack lost somewhere amongst the bodies of my victims.
“At least let me dress your wounds,” I said, holding up a hand to cut him off as he spun to face me with a protest on his lips. “Nope.”
His features hardened into what I thought of as his serious look, like an angry statue. “You need rest.”
“And you need to stop bleeding all over the floor.” I glanced pointedly at the worn flooring, already stained with various shades of blood, now decorated with an extra trail of bright red.
How did he have anything left inside him? All he’d done since I’d walked in on him in the bedroom at that party was bleed out.
He chuckled, the stupid, sexy sound I hated to love. “Why, sweetness, who knew you were so concerned about little old me?”
“Old is right. Little, not so much.” I stalked towards him, trying not to blush as my eyes dropped to the obvious bulge at his crotch.
I’d meant his frame in general, but of course, that wasn’t how it sounded. I was the queen of making things awkward.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, that damn smirk tugging up one corner of his mouth as he backed up. “So eager to get me into bed?”
I hissed and shoved the one uninjured part of his chest, forcing him to sit back heavily on the furs.
The sight of him on a bed threatened to distract me from my mission, but I managed to scramble enough sense together and grabbed the kit off the nightstand. Rifling through the contents, I found an expired antiseptic cream from the human realm, thread with no needle, and gauze pads that may or may not have already been opened.
I sighed. “It won’t be as effective as healing magic, but it’s better than tearing you apart further.” I pinned him with my stern healer glare. “Wait here.”
An indulgent smirk curved his lips, and I turned away before he could draw another hiss from me, stepping into the tiny attached bathroom. Ignoring the cracked tiles and cloudy mirror above the rough-hewn basin, I filled a small bucket of pale-pink liquid from the tap. At least the inn had running water, piped in and filtered from the river flowing alongside it.
After fishing a threadbare cloth from the wicker basket beside the sink, I hurried back out.
The enforcer remained exactly how I’d left him, ankles crossed, leaned back on forearms propped on the bed beneath him, wings splayed over the fur blankets.
Countless wounds trickled bright blood down his plum skin, smearing the predatory birds decorating his torso.
I longed to study his tattoos in more detail. I’d never really let myself look at him too closely, instinctively knowing it would only make me feel worse.
Plus, it was kinda rude to salivate over your patients. I may not have exactly been a trained doctor, but even I knew being a pervert was a no-no.
His eyes tracked my every move, but they lacked their usual mischievous gleam. All the fighting and constant injuries were finally catching up to him.
Guilt nipped me with sharp fangs. I was the one who kept hurting him.
Setting the bucket on the creaky bedside table, I dunked the cloth and leaned over his wide frame, gently dabbing the blood from the worst cuts before replacing each one with a gauze pad taped to his skin.
I frantically ignored the way he shivered at my almost touch, goosebumps rising on his skin where I stroked him with the damp linen.
With a shaky inhale, I finally scrounged up the courage to speak. “Thank you for carrying me out of there. You saved our furred friends and those hybrids.”
From me.
His gaze felt hot on my face, but I couldn’t meet it with my own.
“I didn’t do it for them,” he rasped.
Long minutes slunk by as I worked in silence, unable to answer him. The familiar process of tending to a patient lulled me instead. I ran out of questionable gauze before he ran out of wounds, though the worst of them were now patched up with the stark bandaging.
“Thanks, kid,” the incubus murmured, and a small smile emerged, a genuine expression that showed faint dimples.
What kind of blood-soaked killer had dimples ?
I straightened with a huff, inspecting my work. “At least you won’t bleed all over me, since you insisted on sharing a bed.”
He stood, bringing our bodies flush. Warmth lit my cheeks. His wing arced out to shepherd me onto the bed, taking his place.
A yawn cracked my jaw, taking me by surprise as I settled onto the firm mattress, scooting back when Killian peeled the covers aside for me, gently helping me in. My eyes blinked heavily.
The incubus paused, fisting the covers and staring at the sliver of bare mattress beside my prone form. A debate played out across his severe features.
“I don’t bite,” I muttered, trying not to look too much into his hesitation at climbing into bed with me, even though I’d been the one insisting on two rooms.
And they said we succubae were natural temptresses.
His lips twitched. “It’s not your fangs I’m worried about.”
I quirked a brow and let the weight of my head finally hit the pillow. I had no clue what he was nattering on about, but a bone-deep exhaustion robbed me of the ability to overthink that too.
“Just get in, Killian.”
On the next blink, my lids didn’t reopen.
Instead, I let the burned-caramel scent of Killian wrap around me, sweet enough to make my mouth water but with that edge of smoky darkness that was all him.
The covers rustled, and he slid in beside me. Somehow, he avoided touching me despite his size.
“Get some rest, Eve. I’ll keep you safe.”