Page 70 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)
Chapter Thirty-Nine
D ELPHINE
O PENING MY EYES due to the sun rays heating my back through the blinds and the screaming of my bladder, I’m met by the sight of Tyler, who sleeps soundly facing me.
Aside from the dog tags hanging limply from his neck, he’s bare from the waist up, the sheet draped along his hip.
Inching my head back on my pillow to gain more view, I do my best not to disturb the light grip of his palm on my hip—one that indicates he must have reached for me in the night.
As awful as I feel, I can’t help but appreciate and soak in every detail of the man lying next to me.
My beautiful boy, my soldier, came back all man.
A man with very few signs of the boy who left.
One of those signs being very faint freckles on the bridge of his nose ending at the edge of each of his cheeks.
His ridiculously long, curled lashes grab several seconds of my admiration, thick dark brows complimenting his complexion and bone structure.
The dimple in his jaw now seems etched, especially now that it’s covered in light stubble and stays present without animation.
His slightly parted, full lips, which are taking shallow breaths, are tinted dark pink.
The look of them is so soft. The remembrance of their touch is so powerful that I can easily recall the physical feel of them— the feel of all of him.
A night even my treacherous mind refuses to let me forget.
It wasn’t at all a boy who took my body that night.
It was a preview of the man lying in front of me now, utterly captivating me.
From the waist up, his sun-tinted skin is covered in nothing but deeply defined muscle. His brown hair looks darker now, neatly trimmed on the sides. Only a few inches long, the top trimmed off, just where there used to be a slight curl. I loved that curl.
Tyler, as a boy, was so beautiful, but the man who took his place has done nothing but continually take my breath away since he appeared at my door. My fingers itch to palm his jaw, to touch any part of him, though I no longer have any right to take such liberties.
It’s then that his words from days ago still my itching, eager fingers.
His declaration of what love remains for me is limited to that of friends—something I will have to accept as much as it pains me.
But for any time with him, I will force myself to try to understand.
His declaration that he needed me would have to hold me.
His healing will be my priority, as he has made mine his.
My screaming bladder doesn’t allow me to contemplate anything further as it reminds me of why I woke.
It’s as I come further to consciousness that I remember his confession and barely manage to keep myself still as the shock again filters in.
He killed Alain.
Hunted him—something I can’t fathom processing now.
So, I don’t, and instead, concentrate on soaking in as much of my soldier as I can as he sleeps.
Even as my bladder demands relief, I sweep him thoroughly, my eyes catching on the tattoo etched into his heavily defined pectoral—a tattoo I first caught a glimpse of when he lifted his shirt to wipe his brow while cleaning my kitchen.
One I had assumed was Marine in nature, but it does not look so much now upon closer inspection.
Circular in shape, a very menacing-looking skull with only the top jaw lies atop crossbones, surrounded by a perfectly symmetrical cross, but not quite a cross.
All four extensions are the same length, the edges of each ending in a T-shape—the top of the skull surrounded by a half circle made up of six stars.
The lower part of the half-circle consisting of three sets of Roman numerals.
The more I examine it, the more I realize nothing about this tattoo looks Marine.
Where has my soldier been? As if sensing my question, he stirs.
“Morning, General,” he rumbles in a sleep-filled voice before opening his gorgeous brown eyes, “what do you need?”
“I have to pee,” I admit with a wince. “Very badly.”
“Okay, let’s go,” he says, standing bedside within a blink.
The act of simply standing daunts me, hair damp and clumped in sweaty heaps.
In short, I feel disgusting. Inside just as bad.
Temporarily ignoring the strange feeling of sobriety that I haven’t experienced fully in years, the lingering sedatives are not enough to hold my building insecurity as I voice my next concern.
“Soldier, I need to pee and shower. ”
He nods, brows drawing as I give him wide eyes. “So, can we maybe call the nurse back?”
“I’m your nurse,” he declares, and I give him a pleading look.
“What? You prefer blondes?” He winks, and I grimace in return.
“I prefer a woman,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t want you to see me—”
“Pee?” he spouts through thick lips. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“I can call her back, but I don’t want to. Can we try it my way?” He gives me stupid adorable puppy eyes with his request, his lashes so damned long it enhances his beg. “Just for today?”
Bladder screaming, I have no choice but to nod.
In an instant, he sweeps me into his arms, and I yelp in surprise before he deposits both me and my IV in front of the toilet with ease before closing the door behind him.
I stand stunned at the efficiency with which he did it as my bladder says time’s up.
Just as I go to lower my pajama pants, the door pops open, and I jerk back as his hand appears, blindly searching for the faucet before he twists the knob on the sink so that the water flows as he speaks.
“In case you get stage fright and need some help finding your flow.”
Laughter erupts from me before the door closes again—crazy, stupid, beautiful boy, but not a boy. Surprising myself, I manage to do my business easily and flush the toilet. Just after, Tyler knocks twice before popping open the door as I pull up my pants. “No, no, I’m going to shower now.”
“Delphine, you’re too weak to do it alone.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
“Liar,” he spouts, opening the door a little wider, his eyes holding mine in a demand to help. The look inside them is more intent and ... indifferent? Maybe a look I deserve, but one that stings. Familiar guilt starts to eat at me as he steps in to stand in front of me.
“There’s got to be a way, alone ,” I say, my brain proving useless as I try to find a solution and come up empty.
“Yeah, it’s called I’ve been inside you and licked every inch of your body.” He shrugs. “So, since when did you become a French monk?”
My eyes bulge at his candor. “This is—”
“You’re sick. You’re too thin. You’re coming down from twenty years of alcoholism. You’re embarrassed. I get it, and I can admit I’m scared of fucking this up, so ... let’s just be human and honest about it, all right?”
His blunt delivery puts me somewhat at ease, and I nod.
“I’m going to take your pants and panties down,” he relays.
“I can take my pants—”
He keeps his gaze on mine and slides my pants and panties down, and I instantly cover my naked crotch with my hand as my neck heats. “God, I know I stink.”
“You do,” he chuckles. “Actually, you reek.”
“Connard,” I mumble, feeling shaky on my legs, fatigued already as sweat gathers at my temple.
“Talk to me, General,” he coaxes, sensing the change in me as he unbuttons my pajama top.
“Just, very weak. How long has it been?”
“Five days.”
“ Five days?” I repeat, having lost count of them somewhere.
“It’s going to take a while longer, maybe a few more weeks, to feel somewhat normal, but I think it’s safe to say at this point you did it,” he says, gently getting my top free from my IV.
Now utterly bare, he keeps his eyes on mine, turning and placing my hands on his shoulders for support before turning to start the shower.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Like I look,” I counter.
“I mean inside,” he whispers as he palms the water to test the temperature as my eyes roll down the perfection in front of me.
“I’m—” My words die as I continue to feast on him. Before me stands a man in his prime, every part of him cut muscle and tanned flesh. His rippling skin is heaven beneath my palms. So virile and alive, I can’t help but voice it.
“Tyler,” I rasp out, “you are so beautiful.” I caress his shoulders as he turns back to me, his expression pinched as his long exhale tickles my nose and chin.
“Appreciate the compliment, but that’s not how you feel ,” he drawls.
“I feel so much right now, but I’m so very happy you are here,” I admit honestly.
“Me too,” he utters before palming my naked hips and sighing. “In the spirit of keeping things honest, I can’t help what might or might not happen down below, okay? So, if you get an accidental cock salute, General, we’re going to ignore it.”
I bite my smile and nod, the fatigue already setting in as he gently guides me over the top of the tub and under the shower without tangling my IV.
“Tell me if at any second you feel faint,” he orders.
I nod again, feeling useless, as he places my palms on his shoulders and quickly begins to lather my hair. We both stand beneath the stream for long seconds, the feel of his fingers heaven as the coconut scent fills the air.
“I’m not going to make you talk to me,” he finally speaks, keeping his eyes intent on his task, “but I’ve got both ears open for whatever you feel up to discussing.”
I train my eyes between his pronounced pectoral muscles and the deeply inked tattoo etched into one before lowering my palm over it.
“I was looking at this when I woke. What does this stand for?” I ask, tracing the skull and Roman numerals. “I thought it was a Marine tattoo, but it does not look Marine.”
“You truly don’t know?” he asks, genuinely surprised as he scrubs my scalp.
“I’m not as up to date as I once was.”
“You?” He quirks a skeptical brow.
I shake my head.