Love Me to Death (Underveil, #1)(32)

Shit. He’d done it again. Thinking of himself and not her. Dammit, she might have frostbite in those silly tennis shoes and blue jeans. “Take off your pants,” he ordered.

“Look, I said you smelled good. It wasn’t a green light.”

“Woman,” he said, jerking off her shoe, “be silent.” He removed her other shoe and wrapped her toes in his warm hands. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes. It hurts, so cut it out.”

It was imperative to get her dry and warm before frostbite set in. He reached up and unbuttoned her jeans.

She gasped and grabbed his wrists. “I said—”

“Say nothing.” He hadn’t intended his voice to be that gruff, but if she lost her feet, they were screwed. He yanked her wet jeans down to her knees, then pulled them the rest of the way off from the ankles. How could he have been so stupid as to have buried her in the snow in such clothes? Humans were not like Slayers and other Underveilers. They succumbed to the elements so quickly. He threw the wet jeans aside.

“Well, way to bypass foreplay all together,” she said. “Figures you’d be selfish, just like you are about everything else.”

He grabbed a bearskin from the floor and wrapped it around her. “I’m not ripping off your clothes to f*ck you. Not that I don’t want to, because I do. And I will. But not until you ask me to…and I want you to be able to walk afterward, which you can’t do without feet. So just be quiet for now.” If she lost her feet, he’d never forgive himself.

Mouth open, she stared at him as he reached under the fur and wrapped the balls and toes of both her feet between his large hands.

She stared over at the iron potbelly stove. “Can’t you light a fire to warm it up?”

He shook his head. “Not in the daytime. The smoke will be spotted. No fires in the daytime. No lights at night.” He cupped his hands and breathed warm air on her toes. “Move your feet for me.” She did, and he sighed with relief. “I don’t think you were cold long enough, nor is the temperature so low you will have lingering effects.”

He stood and picked her up, every wound in his body screaming. Mercifully, the entire width of the cabin was hardly more than the length of the cord, so his walk was short. Holding his breath so he wouldn’t groan in pain, he lowered her gently on one of the two beds.

Then, he pulled the suitcase over and popped it open, relieved to find flannel pajamas and thick socks for her under a piece of red lingerie that made his mouth go dry. He grinned when he saw that Stefan had also included another pair of jeans and a shirt for him as well.

He shivered and the gunshot wounds answered with searing pain. He was wet, too, but with blood, not melted snow.

He tossed the pajamas and socks to her. “Can you manage these?”

“My feet are back, but they’re not happy about it.”

“I am.” He pulled out two protein bars and set them on the tiny table between the beds, then peeled off his bullet-perforated, blood-soaked clothes. Using her wet blue jeans, he wiped as much blood off his body as he could, wincing as the rough fabric scraped across the entry holes. To his relief, many of the wounds had begun to close and were no longer bleeding. Still, they hurt like hell. He needed to dispose of the clothes, but couldn’t do it yet. If someone came across the discarded items, they would know they were still in the mountains. He could teleport somewhere, but it created a trail and also took a ton of energy, which he needed in order to heal. For now, she would just have to endure the smell.

He opened the potbelly stove and shoved the clothes inside. That should buffer the odor of blood somewhat. He turned back around to find her staring. She had put on the pajama pants and socks and was still in the parka, eyes wide as they traveled up and down his body. Dammit, what shit timing to have his gut full of holes. Fate was a heartless bitch.





Chapter Eleven


Elena almost fainted when Nikolai leaned over to shove the clothes inside the stove. Never had there been a more perfect body on the planet, she was sure of it, and his backside was just as delicious as the front. Her mouth watered, and as much as she would have liked to blame it solely on the blood lust, she was certain it was more than that.

Here was a man who had to be in excruciating pain, caring for her first. He’d taken off the bloody clothes. Though, based on his pained expression, it almost killed him to do it. He had done it for her. She’d totally misjudged him.

“Eat a bar,” he said, wrapping himself in a blanket from the other bed, teeth chattering.

She reached over, picked one up, ripped it open, and offered it to him. “You too.”

He took it and smiled, which cause her heart to soar. Such a beautiful smile, punctuated with a dimple on one side. Why had she never noticed that before?

“Your hair is wet,” he said between bites. “Is your coat wet?”

She chewed and swallowed before answering. “A little. I’m afraid of being colder if I take it off.”

“Being wet is the worst thing in a situation like this.” He shuddered from cold and dug through the suitcase again. “Layers are the most effective.” He pulled out several garments, but none had been altered to accommodate the cord with the exception of the pajama top she already had and one other T-shirt. “Take off the parka and your blouse if it’s wet, and we will let it dry. Put this on under the pajamas.”