Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(66)

“Oh, my God.” Holy shit. A healer could do that? Heal someone from a bullet wound?

Kilter stopped at the foot of the bed.

I looked up at him, but his eyes were on my legs. My very naked legs. I quickly yanked the sheet back up. “She healed me? From a bullet wound?” Bruises were one thing, but this was incredible. No pain. Bruising. Stiffness. It was as if I’d never been shot.

“Yeah.” His voice was abrupt and there was tension in his stance as he looked at me. He curled and uncurled his hands and his scowl was fierce, yet there was something else there I didn’t recognize.

“Kilter?” What wasn’t he telling me?

His brows drew low over his eyes. Eyes that were no longer looking at me, but at the bed near my feet. What was wrong? Kilter was straightforward and honest. Direct as a missile. It was one of the reasons I’d been drawn to him. My entire life had been about deception and deceit. The lies from Anton to get me to conform and the lies I told myself.

He ran his fingers through his hair and shifted his body weight. “I should’ve been there. Six months ago, I should’ve been there for you and I wasn’t.” I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say to that. He half-grunted before tilting his head up and locking eyes on me. “I care about you and if anything happens to you…you mean something to me, babe.”

I did? And God, I liked that.

“Thank you for saving my life.” I paused then added. “Again.”

He grunted then walked over to the small antique chair near the door, grabbed the back of it, and dragged it over to the side of the bed and sat. “That vampire wouldn’t have killed you. You’d be dead right now if he did. He shot you, so you couldn’t run.”

“He said he was supposed to take me to someone.”

He didn’t say anything, but from his strained expression, he didn’t like hearing that.

He reached over to the nightstand and picked up a bowl with a spoon resting in it. Then he took a spoonful, and with his hand underneath it so none would drip on me, he brought it toward my mouth.

I balked. “Umm, I’m capable of feeding myself, Kilter. Perfectly healed, remember.”

“Open.”

He had that stubborn, determined glint in his eyes, so arguing was a moot point. “What is it?”

“Open.”

Obstinate as usual. It was irritating, but kind of comforting because Kilter was here. With me. I opened my mouth and swallowed the lukewarm chicken broth he fed me. I hated chicken soup. Anton had the cooks make it all the time when I was sick, which was often because I’d been unhealthy, at first by choice until it warped into something more.

“Kilter?”

“Yeah, babe.” He scooped up more soup.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I mean, from the Rest thing and then the vampire. He could’ve killed you, Kilter.”

“You worried about me?” The corners of his lip twitched upward and my heart rate increased. “And no, the vampire wouldn’t have killed me. He ran, remember. Open.” When I didn’t immediately, his brows lowered and his lips set in a thin line.

I grudgingly took another mouthful and a drop of soup spilled over my lower lip. With the pad of his finger, he gently wiped it away. My eyes widened at the intimacy of the touch and my stomach flipped.

I looked down and curled my fingers into the edge of the sheet held tight to my chest. His hand cupped my chin and he tilted my head up. Neither of us said anything, but in the depths of his dark eyes, a spark of desire flashed.

Then it was gone and he released me.

I grudgingly opened my mouth as he fed me another spoonful of soup. I swallowed, but when he held out another one, I pushed his hand away, spilling some of it onto the sheet. “No more. I hate chicken soup.”

Kilter dropped the spoon in the bowl with a clank. “For f*ck’s sake, why didn’t you say anything? Fuck, Rayne, I could have made you something else.”

“You made it?”

He stood, the muscles in his back tense. “You eat potato leek? Tomato? Mushroom? What?”

I reached out, my hand settling on his wrist. “I’m good.” When he frowned, I added, “For now, but thank you for the soup. It was really thoughtful, and if I liked chicken soup, I’m sure it would be good.”

He shrugged. “It’s chicken soup, no big deal, and I like to cook. You refused to wake up, so I had to do something.”

I smiled. He obviously had trouble giving compliments and accepting them. “Kilter?” His eyes landed on me. “Just say thanks.”

He didn’t. Instead, he set the bowl down on the nightstand, his eyes on me and they were smoldering. I wore nothing but panties and my bra underneath the sheet, but I felt hot. Really hot. His eyes on me like that caused a sweet ache between my legs, and I licked my lips because suddenly they were really dry and I couldn’t catch my breath.

“Kilter.”

“Christ.” His knee landed on the mattress as he bent and grabbed me around the back of the neck and pulled me toward him. The sheet slipped from my grasp as his lips took mine.

He groaned against my mouth, the vibration shooting sparks through every inch of my body. His tongue swept inside as he deepened the kiss, bringing me closer to him so my aching breasts pressed up against this chest.