Dark Fates (A Paranormal Anthology)(113)

“Come, you should be in bed, and I found some medicine for your shoulder.”

For a moment, he thought she might surprise him and obey. She leaned forward and shifted as though about to take a step. Shaking her head, she glared at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I want my things, and I want to go back to the city right now.”

“No.” He wouldn’t debate her. If she wouldn’t go of her own volition, he’d put her in bed. She swayed on her feet. The scent of pain on her sharpened, and it provoked him.

“If you don’t let me go right this instant, I’ll scream.” As threats went, it was far more effective than she could possibly realize. Even at this distance, her scream could actually injure his sensitive ears. But he bluffed far better than she did. Age and experience…

“Go ahead. The only person who will hear is me.” He spread his hands wide and waited. When her jaw snapped shut with a click of her teeth, he smiled and picked her up. She let out a little squeak, but he ignored her surprise and carried her into the kitchen.

He deposited her on the counter next to the tray he’d prepared, and her gasp plowed a fist through his amusement. He scanned over her for sign that he’d hurt her, and his gaze fixed on her thighs. His shirt had ridden up and revealed her lack of undergarments. The coldness of the marble countertop had caught her off guard. But judging from the pucker of her nipples clearly outlined by the cotton, the chilly temperature had done nothing to diminish her arousal.

Head tilted as he assessed her reaction, he couldn’t help but notice her squirm under his regard. She blended all that was seduction and innocence. Heat poured through him like liquid fire. Her blatant need was impossible to ignore. His cock hardened to steel, and he wondered how wet she would be if he slid his hand down to test her sex.

The need to f*ck her threatened to overwhelm everything else, and he still needed to fix her damn arm. If he could kill those bastards all over again, he would. If not for that injury, he’d be balls-deep in her already.

Of that he was certain.

“You have to stop looking at me that way.” Her breathy voice stroked him.

He’d look at her any damn way he pleased. Cupping her chin, he nudged her gaze up from his chest. Based on her attention, he considered never wearing a shirt again. Her pretty pink lips parted, and he fought the urge to answer that silent invitation. “Jubilee, I’m going to take care of you.”

The only way to do that and avoid an order of execution was to turn her. Enoch’s blood would do it, but she had to be willing. Forcing the change never worked. The oath had to come from her soul, and the desire to take the blood and to be bound demanded purity of purpose.

Her throat convulsed with a swallow, and her glossy eyes hardened a fraction. “Your promises mean less than nothing,. I don’t know you. I don’t even know what you are. Yes, you saved me from those men, and then you made me go to sleep. You’ve kidnapped me to the back of beyond, and you’re holding me prisoner. If our situations were reversed, would you trust me?”

If their situations were reversed, he’d demand the truth or fight tooth and claw to be free again. But she wouldn't need to transport him to the far end of the state. Not when her presence alone held him captive. Catching the hem of the shirt she wore, he tugged it up and over as gently as he could, taking special care not to further hurt her shoulder. It had turned an ugly shade of black with purple striations.

Anger speared him all over again, and his emotions must have shown on his face because she seemed to bite back a verbal response. Plucking up the willow bark cream, he scooped a generous amount onto his fingers and applied it to the bruise with as much care as he could spare.

She exhaled air between her teeth, tension seeming to vibrate through her muscles. If anything, her response made her arousal even more piquant to his senses. Concentrating on applying the healing salve, he watched her face.

“I want to trust you.”

His admission drew them back to her question, and surprise softened the thin line of her mouth.

“Why?”

It was working. She was talking again.

“Because, through no fault of your own, your life is in my hands.” Maybe it wasn’t the kindest way to put it, but they didn’t have time to dance around the subject.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her vulnerability beckoned to him, but he steeled himself against it—at least for the moment. Beneath his fingers, her skin was so very soft, and he took his time to make sure the salve soaked in fully. The stiffness in her shoulders eased with every stroke.

“I did,” he agreed. “And I don’t want to hurt you.” All true. So was the fact that he would fight tooth and claw to keep hurt from her.

“Then why is my life in your hands?” Curiosity, not fear, hummed in the question. It satisfied him in a deep, dark place, but he refused to examine that too closely.

Finished with her shoulder, he studied it a moment. The color seemed better somehow. Satisfied, he handed the top back to her. Clothing might be better for what came next, though he could easily shred the shirt off. “Dress, and we’ll go upstairs. You’re going to eat the food I’ve made and drink the tea and listen to my story.” When she opened her mouth to say something, he pressed his finger to her lips. “No more talking. You will be silent, and you will listen.” He poured his will into the command, and her eyes sparked with rebellion, but she gave him a grudging nod.