Page 28 of Preacher

“Doesn’t hurt much.”

He said it so calmly I almost believed him.

“It absolutely hurts. You’re sweating.” His being tough didn’t bother me. But we were alone, no eyes around, and I wanted him to know he could lower his guard when it was just us. No judgment.

“Different reason.” A bead slipped from his temple, tracking down along his jaw before disappearing into his beard.

My hand stilled mid-stitch. I lifted my eyes to his, and the air in the room suddenly became stifling.

He didn’t look away when I caught him watching me. If anything, his grip tightened just slightly where his hands rested.

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t do that. I’m holding sharp objects, and your skin is open. You’re also very naked from the waist up, and I am a man with limits.”

Few, but I had them.

“Noted.”

I went back to work. The next stitch went in cleaner than the first. I found a rhythm—pierce, draw, knot, snip—and let my hands do what they knew while my brain focused on things that didn’t involve how badly I wanted to kiss him.

“Born that way?” I asked. “Or were you bitten, or whatever the lore says? I don’t know how this works. I’ve seen exactly one werewolf movie, and it was the lamest thing I ever watched.”

“Wolf shifter and I was born this way.” His voice was careful, like he was watching how I took every word. “My lineage goes back further than anybody bothers to count.”

“So it’s not a virus?” Like it had been in the movie. It was the only comparison I had to go on. After what I’d just witnessed, I was going to binge-watch a ton of them.

“It’s not a virus.” Preacher jerked when the needle got stuck, making me jerk my hand away and tip backward.

“Sorry!” I said as his hands cupped the back of my thighs, steadying me.

The movement pulled me a fraction closer without either of us acknowledging it. My free hand pressed more firmly against his shoulder. “The tip of the needle—”

“Just caught me off-guard, sweetheart.” His thumbs brushed over the denim. I didn’t ask him to stop this time.

“Hold still.” I eased the needle back out, wincing slightly. “Did that hurt?”

“No.” His voice was huskier, curling around my senses.

“Almost done.” I blew out a breath. “See, I told you that your calmness was freaking me out.

“You were serious?”

“I just hooked you like a worm,” I argued. “Mike squirms and whines.”

Preacher looked at me like I’d suggested he cut his hair. “Not a chance in hell.”

My lips quirked. “Not even a tiny whimper?”

“When Hell freezes over.” He turned his head, muttering something under his breath I couldn’t hear.

“Then you have to whimper,” I said triumphantly. “There’s a town called Hell in Norway.”

Preacher stared at me like I’d just made that up.

“Check the internet on your phone while I finish these last stitches.” I smiled smugly at him. Sometimes it paid to know useless facts. He was going to whimper, damn it.

“Need a phone.”

I stopped long enough to hand mine over after unlocking it. Preacher was decent enough not to get nosy.