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“No.”
“But what—” She flipped on the light, needing to see.
Tallak flinched, and she squinted until her eyes adjusted to the brightness.
“Oh my gods.” She covered her mouth with one hand—not the one that had touched his arm.
It was like he’d spray-painted himself with blood.
“It’s not mine,” Tallak said quickly.
Her wide eyes flicked to his face. “What happened?”
He shrugged, glancing away. “Rough night at Nine Circles. Had to dispatch a few rowdy patrons.”
A simple statement, and yet heaviness weighed down his words, his energy vibrating low. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he still wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his voice raw. “Just thought I’d—” He shook his head, then added in a murmur, “Wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have come here.” He turned for the door again. “You should go back to bed.”
A stinging pain in her heart, she grabbed his arm once more, and tugged at him. For the life of her, she couldn’t let him leave like that.
When he paused, his muscles hard under her hand, she softly said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Finally, his eyes met hers, their fire banked and dull.
She slid her hand down his arm until she grasped his fingers, squeezing them once. “Come on.”
Still holding his hand, she took a step toward her bathroom and glanced back at him. He remained frozen near the door, though he didn’t disentangle his fingers from hers.
“I’m a bloody mess,” he said, his tone and posture resistant, but his expression…such longing in his gaze, painful need etched into his features.
“Then let me take care of you.” Again she tugged on his hand, and this time, he followed.
Once in the bathroom, she grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and shoved it up, until he took over and pulled it off to let it drop on the floor with a wet plop. As always, her breath caught at the sight of his bare torso, the corded muscles bunching with his movements, and even half-covered in blood, he was the sexiest male she’d ever seen.
To be quite honest, the fact that his skin bore the signs of a battle he’d fought and won made him sinfully hotter. She bit her lip. Bad Hazel. Here he was, having come to her out of some unspoken need, and she was drooling over him like a dog over a treat.
She laid her hand on his cheek, held his eyes for a moment, and then slid her hand down his throat, over his chest and abs, to the top of his pants. Her touch sent a shiver through him that she felt in the twitching of his muscles and the rumble in his aura, but it was a good sort of shudder, some of the somberness leaving his energy.
The buttons gave under her fingers, one by one, until she had his pants open. Leaning in to press a kiss to his chest, she slid her hands along the waistband to his sides and shoved his pants down over his hips. Still unusually—and disturbingly—passive, Tallak let her pull the pants down all the way before he toed off his boots and stepped aside.
This inertia in him, it had a strange quality to it, like something had thrown him off-kilter, had knocked over a vital piece inside him. It made her want to reach in and put him to rights again.
Without thinking too much about it, she pulled off her nightshirt and slipped out of her panties.
Finally, heat flickered in his eyes, the stirrings of his usual self.
Reaching into the shower, she turned it on and waited until the water ran hot. Then, with a crook of her finger, she indicated for him to follow her as she stepped inside. He heeded her call, his eyes seeming to track every drop of water as it ran down the curves of her body, as if he wanted to trace the path of each one with his tongue, his fingers.
Molten desire pooled in her core, and she stepped back, making more room for him in the stall. The water hit his head, his shoulders, ran down his body, taking the bulk of the blood with it, a swirl of rosy red around the drain. He lifted his face up into the spray and closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxing a bit.
Grabbing her shampoo from the shelf behind her, she squeezed a generous dollop onto her hand and lathered it up.
“I have to warn you,” she said softly. “I don’t have any masculine-smelling products here.”
He tipped his head back down to her, flames dancing in his eyes.
She bit her lip. “I’m afraid you’ll be smelling like patchouli and jasmine.”
