Whisper to a Scream (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #6.5)(13)

Christina caught my hand in hers, holding it to her bruised cheek. “Thank you for treating me like a person. It’s been a long time since a man has seen me as anything but an object.”

She pulled me down on the couch beside her, and a jolt of panic pounded my chest. Leaning in close, Christina dropped the towel but held tight to my hand. Her lips were so soft and delicate as she kissed my palm.

“I feel like I was meant to meet you, Willow,” she continued, edging closer. “I don’t know what it’s like to be with a man who cares about me. There’s something about you that comforts me. I know I can trust you.”

“Yes, you can. That’s why I can’t give you what you want from me.” There, it was out. I had to say it now. Too much was going unsaid between us. I needed to stop this thing before it got out of control.

She looked so wounded. Confusion furrowed her brow. “You feel it, too. I know you do.”

I gazed at her pouty bottom lip, silent while a war raged inside me. “Yes, I do. But, we can’t be together, not the way you want; it’s forbidden.”

“Then why did you let it go this far? You can’t just turn on this charm and compassion, make a girl fall for you and then say it’s not going to happen.” She shoved to her feet and stormed into the kitchen where she grabbed the tequila bottle and drank from it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you tonight. Maybe you should leave.”

I held the towel of ice out to her, feeling useless and guilty. “Here. You should put this on those bruises. It will help with the swelling.”

“I think I’ll deal with the pain first.” She used the bottle to gesture to the door. “Don’t feel like you have to stay. It’s ok. I can take it from here. Thanks for bringing me home.”

Christina began to shut down. Her hard shield fell back in place. She stood there in torn clothing with the marks of abuse on her face, and I couldn’t bring myself to walk out the door.

“If you want me to leave, I’ll go. I would rather stay, though. If that’s ok with you.” I wanted to tear that ugly bottle from her hand and throw it from the balcony. I didn’t, though the temptation was growing. It was a crutch, a filthy way of numbing out. I had watched far too many die in the bottom of a bottle, victims of their own need to escape.

Her shoulders slumped, and she stared dejectedly at the floor. “Sure, why not? I suppose I could use the company.”

“Can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe?”

Her grip on the tequila tightened. “Would you just sit with me for a while? Is that allowed?”

“Of course.”

I waited anxiously while she showered and changed. I said a silent prayer that nothing would come up with Alexa to drag me away. My charge was my priority; she had to be. However, I was needed here right now.

Christina emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam that smelled like flowers and strawberries. Tightly wrapped in a bathrobe with her face free from makeup, she looked vulnerable. An overwhelming number of urges struck me, all of them bordering on inappropriate.

“You’re still here,” she said, genuinely surprised to see me.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me, unless I get called away.”

She sat stiffly beside me. Abandoning the notion of awkwardness, I brazenly put an arm around her and drew her close. She relaxed against me with a soft sigh, and I had to stifle one of my own when she took it a step farther and rested her head on my chest.

For a long time, we sat there in comfortable silence. The early dawn rays broke through the curtains, casting a warm glow through the apartment. The sound of Christina’s slow, even breathing signaled that she was asleep. I very carefully lifted her, carrying her to the bedroom.

I paused in the doorway to her small, girlish room. A frame on the dresser drew my gaze to a photo of Christina and a big yellow lab. Twenty-year-old Christina grinned at the camera, her arms tight around her furry friend.

The rest of the dresser top was littered with jewelry and other assorted accessories. A pair of red underwear that was barely more than a scrap of material forced my gaze back to the bed.

Carefully, I laid her down and covered her with a sheet. I watched her sleep for a moment, telling myself this had to be the final goodbye. It was over now. It had to be, before I did something that we would both regret.

“Willow,” she whispered my name, her voice groggy. “Don’t go.”

Her word was my command. Done with my internal battle, I shoved the guilt aside and lay down beside her. She reached for me with a soft murmur.

Facing one another, Christina snuggled in close, and I wrapped her in my embrace, enjoying the way she felt when she pressed against me. It was uncanny how we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Her wet locks tickled my face, but I didn’t care. I was elated.

Her eyes opened, and she smiled. The small voice in my head grew silent. I gave myself over to the moment and kissed her.

The rush of excitement was dizzying. The touch of her mouth on mine struck me dumb. All sense or thought vanished. All I could focus on was the sweetness of her, the way she moved those soft lips to kiss me back.

She held me still with a hand on my face when I would have pulled away. Our connection held an intimacy that I hadn’t dreamed possible. Observing humanity had done little to prepare me for this lively expression of emotion.