Blood Bonds(The Bonds That Tie #3)(32)

His face doesn’t change, and his tone is kind but also very matter-of-fact as he says, “There isn’t a single one of your Bonds who hasn’t seen you bare to the waist, Oleander. We all held you while you healed.”

I groan and shove my face into my hands, desperate to pass out again and forget that the conversation is even happening. “Is there anything else entirely shameful I did? Did my bond attempt to assault any of you again, or am I going to be spared that particular horror this time around?”

“Whatever you need, it’s our duty and honor to provide.”

I have no words to even attempt to answer that, and it doesn’t really answer anything for me anyway. “What the hell happened while I was gone? Where is all of this coming from? The last I knew, you didn’t trust me. Now, you’re in here with soft words and offering me whatever I want… I’m so fucking confused right now. Which one of us has a head injury I need to freak out about right now?”

He’s way too calm about my rambled word vomit. So calm that he doesn’t react at all, except to shift his grip on me to my hips to hold me steady, and once he has a good grip, he opens his mouth and all of my secrets come out of it. “You were kidnapped from the hospital. You were held in a Resistance camp for two years while they tortured you for information about your gift and your Bonds. You gave them nothing. You escaped when Silas Davies left, and your bond took over to get you out. You then spent three years on the run to lead them away from us. You slept in halfway homes, sublets, and the streets while you were barely more than a kid because you didn’t want them to get access to us… or your gift. That’s what’s changed.”

My mouth opens and then closes with a snap, because that’s a whole lot more information than I was expecting him to have. That’s a lot more than knowing my Resistance code name would have gotten him, but I guess it was a good enough starting point for him to hunt down the rest.

My cheeks heat again, and when I slide off of his legs, this time he lets me, though his hands stay over my hips to brace me and hold me up. “You’re making it sound heroic. It was mostly me being terrified and trying to flee.”

He stares up at me with those same broody eyes he’s been giving me throughout this entire conversation. “You were sixteen when you escaped them, of course you were terrified. How you endured what they did to you without murmuring a single word is beyond me, but it was more than the something I asked from you before you left.”

I swallow roughly, trying not to feel self-conscious about my basically naked state, and mutter, “I didn’t give it to you though. Atlas told you, and you’ve figured it all out from there.”

He shrugs and then his fingers hook around the elastic waistband of my underwear, drawing them down my legs without a single word, and my dumb ass just stands there and lets him. I’m kind of stunned at his presumption, that it’s just totally fine for him to undress me completely and I’ll just… be fine with it.

I guess this is the most North action I’ve seen out of him since I returned, and that’s why my brain hasn’t caught up with the situation fully.

He stands up and motions to the marble bench. “Sit down. Davenport has had to fix your leg in stages, and you still have one last session before it’s fully healed.”

Again, I just do it because I think the information dump has broken the small, sassy part of my brain that woke up with me, and now I’m on autopilot while shit reconfigures in there.

Then, with a rapt sort of focus, I watch as he strips down, peeling off his Tac gear and dropping it on the ground outside of the shower stall. He doesn’t hesitate or pause until he’s standing there completely naked in front of me.

I force my eyes to stay very firmly above his waist, a feat that I’ll go to the grave being proud of considering that I’m sitting down and my eyeline is, of course, dick level.

I can’t speak, my voice has dried up, and he either doesn’t notice my meltdown at the magnificent sight of his chest, or he’s choosing to leave me in the puddle he’s made of me as he turns his back on me to test out the water again. Then he ducks his head under and gives himself a quick scrub down.

Blood and dirt I hadn’t noticed before muddy the water, and the strong, masculine scent of his soap fills the air until he’s practically glowing with cleanliness.

Then he turns back to me and holds out a hand.

I take it, and a deep breath, and let him pull me up and under the blissfully hot stream of water. Because he doesn’t make a comment or even a sound while he works, I manage to get through him cleaning me without too much awkwardness.

He uses all of his own supplies, his soaps, and then he massages his shampoo into my hair with fingers that might just be magic. I have to hold in a moan of pure pleasure as goosebumps explode over my skin.

When he takes the handheld showerhead down to wash out the shampoo, I get self-conscious again, though this time it has more to do with the fact that my nipples are pebbled up and betraying just how much I’m enjoying this little moment of his ministrations, and I try to grab the showerhead from him. “My leg should be okay, I can do the rest.”

He’s at least a foot taller than I am and easily moves it out of my reach. “No, stay right where you are. Just shut your eyes and enjoy it.”

Goddammit. His fingers slip easily into my hair, massaging my scalp again as he rinses out the shampoo, and I just give in. I’m still tired, and I’ll use that as my excuse later when this all inevitably bites me in the ass.