Page 29 of Sophie’s Ruin (Crimson and Shadows #2)

Itook us to the Duval Estate, straight to the cellar where I hoped crates with blood awaited us.

A breath of relief whooshed out of me when I saw my hope hadn’t been misplaced—the clans hadn’t raided the cellar and taken all the blood.

After carefully laying Henry on the stone floor in the middle of the dimly lit room, I dragged one of the crates closer and lowered to the floor next to him, folding my legs under me to prop his head on my knees.

The heavy lid creaked in the quiet space as I opened the chest and retrieved a blood bag before tearing it open with my teeth and pouring its contents into Henry’s mouth.

He was nearly unconscious as his throat worked on a swallow, but then his hand shot up, closing around the bag.

He ripped it out of my hand and began drinking greedily, gulping down the deep-red liquid.

Exhaustion washed over me with the realization that he was going to be okay.

I wanted to sag all the way down to the floor with relief, but willed myself to stay upright as I reached back into the chest and pulled out a bag for myself.

When I sank my fangs into it, blood poured into my mouth, rich and sweet, and I moaned at the exquisite taste.

My veins lit up with liquid fire as the blood began coursing through me, traveling to each part of my body, healing cracked bones and torn tissue.

Henry drained his bag first, throwing it to the side with a snarl.

When he did, I gave him another bag and also retrieved one for myself.

We fed for what felt like hours until eventually, Henry rolled to the side and vomited some of the blood.

He’d taken too much too fast after not feeding for days.

“I think you’ve had enough for now,” I said gently, brushing his matted hair from his damp forehead.

He didn’t protest as he lay on my lap, trembling slightly.

My gaze roamed over his body as I assessed the damage.

Feeding had kick-started the healing process, but it was difficult to judge how well it was going because he was covered in blood.

“We should go upstairs and clean you up. Can you walk?” I asked, my tone urgent.

I couldn’t wait another second to wash away the horrors of the past few nights from his skin.

Henry nodded, planting his left hand on the floor.

He pushed up to a seating position first, before slowly rising to his feet.

I stood up as well, wrapping my arm around his waist for support.

When I did, he winced in pain, which let me know the healing process had only just begun.

Slowly, we made our way out of the cellar and climbed the narrow stone steps to the foyer.

“Wait,” I stopped Henry with a hand on his chest as I strained my ears, listening for any sign we might not be alone on the estate.

I wasn’t worried about the clans coming for us—I could take care of them, but I hoped they would stay away for a while.

I also hoped that Isabelle and the others had not come for me.

I wanted to be left alone with Henry. I’d just gotten him back, and we deserved some time together.

Silence stretched, as my ears picked up on the creaks of the empty house and the drumming of the rain outside.

A sigh of relief left me when I’d made sure we were alone, and I nodded at Henry before steering him in the direction of the grand staircase.

He was silent on the way to his bedroom on the second floor, but his hold on me was strong, as if he feared that if he’d let go, I would slip out of his arms and disappear.

My grip was also tight on him because I needed to feel he was real and that this wasn’t some twisted, delusional dream.

When we reached his bedroom, I pushed open the door and we walked in, heading to the bathing chamber.

Bright light flooded the space, glancing off the marble shower and the porcelain soaking tub when I flipped on the switch.

“Wait here,” I told Henry, leaving him propped on the vanity as I walked over to the shower and turned it on.

The soft hum of water filled the quiet as I thrust my hand into the stream, holding it there until I adjusted the temperature and made sure it was not scalding hot. When I turned around, Henry was watching me intently as if he were scared to take his eyes off me.

“You need to shower,” I said as I approached, stopping before him.

Slowly, I reached out and undid the buttons on his pants before tugging them down his hips.

The blood-soaked garment dropped to the floor, and Henry stepped out of it, his chest heaving with a shuddering breath of relief.

Wrapping my arm around his waist again, I led him to the shower.

His steps were steadier now, but he still let me help him, which I appreciated because I still needed to be touching him to make sure he was real.

I had to let go of him, though, when we reached the shower so he could step inside.

He eased under the stream, hissing when the water hit cuts and bruises.

Bracing his hands on the shower wall, he hung his head, letting the water plaster his hair to his face as it washed away the blood.

It glided down his body like a river of crimson, pooling on the marble floor under his feet before swirling and disappearing down the drain.

I wished the water could wash away everything that had transpired, but I knew that what had happened to Henry would cling to his skin like a sticky residue for years to come.

I wished I could take it all away, all the pain and suffering.

Henry was strong; the tortures hadn’t broken him.

The aftermath of what had happened wouldn’t break him either.

Still, I wished I could bear the brunt of it, sparing him from it all.

He was strong, but I wished he didn’t have to be.

I wanted to be strong for both of us. Perhaps I was still a martyr, willing to suffer only for him.

“Get in,” he said softly, pulling me from my thoughts.

Relief crashed into me at the request, nearly knocking me off my feet.

I’d planned on getting in when I’d first turned on the shower, but then had thought better of it, wondering if I should give him some space.

Now he was asking me to join him, and I almost wept with joy.

I would have given him space if he’d needed it, but it would have been torture because I didn’t need any space from him.

We’d never be separated again if I could help it.

Henry lifted his face up into the stream and scrubbed it with his hands while I peeled my bloodstained clothes off my body.

I stepped into the shower behind him and reached for the soap sitting on the shallow shelf carved into the marble wall.

Gripping the lavender-scented bar with one hand, I reached up with my other hand and pressed my fingertips to Henry’s back to let him know I was about to wash him.

He tensed but didn’t object as I began gliding the soap over his body, gently washing away blood and grime.

I started with his neck and shoulders, which were taut and hard as stone but eventually relaxed as I massaged them lightly, carefully avoiding the tender welts and pink skin where the injuries were healing.

Working my way down, I washed the broad expanse of his back before moving lower, all the way to the soles of his feet.

When I popped up in front of him, he braced his hands on the wall again, caging me in.

My heart skipped a beat because I was now inches away from his face, which was still covered in small cuts but was no longer covered in blood, revealing the chiseled features underneath.

Deep-blue eyes were fastened on me, as one side of Henry’s mouth turned up.

“Hi,” he said low.

I felt one corner of my lips turn up in response.

“Hi,” I breathed, getting lost in the depths of his gaze.

I wanted to close the distance between us and kiss every inch of his face, but I told myself to focus and finish washing him.

Lowering my gaze to his throat, I ran my soapy hand over the column of his neck before sliding it to his chest. The sculpted muscles flexed as I washed his torso before moving lower.

My throat dried at what I found below his navel, and my gaze darted back to Henry’s face.

His eyes closed and his lips parted, he looked enraptured as I washed him.

Still watching him closely, I wrapped my fingers around his hardness and glided my hand up and down his length, eliciting a full-body shudder and a harsh groan from him.

A low sound broke past my lips as arousal flooded me, pooling in my core.

I remembered all too well what it felt like to have the thick hardness deep inside me, stretching me, bringing me to the edge.

My restraint was slipping; I could feel it, but I refused to give in to the burning need in my blood.

This was about Henry, not me, and he didn’t stop me as I kept moving lower down his body, washing his legs to the tips of his toes.

When I rose back up, Henry’s eyes were still closed as he rested his forehead against mine, swallowing thickly.

“I need to wash your hair,” I told him, my voice low and husky.

He pulled away then and opened his eyes.

They were darker now, sending a shiver of anticipation through me.

His hungry gaze stayed on me as he slowly lowered to his knees and clasped my hips.

Desire pulsed between my thighs as I felt his breath on my flushed skin.

I wanted to give in to it so badly, but I resisted.

I would follow Henry’s lead and feed his desires, not my own.

His dark lashes swept down as he lowered his head—a cue for me to wash his hair.

I lathered up the silky strands, massaging his scalp until a sigh of contentment left him.