His stomach twisted into a thousand knots. There she was. Fox the Executioner. She’d fought her way free of the post, but she hadn’t made it far. She lay on her stomach, a metal collar secured to her neck. Though she slept, pain contorted her features.
Three days had passed, yet her back…
A growl of rage rumbled deep in Bjorn’s chest. Her back was mutilated. What remained of her skin and muscle resembled raw hamburger meat. In a few places, a bone protruded. She’d bitten off her nails, mangled her ankles, and broken her thumbs.
No doubt she’d broken her thumbs in order to slide her hands out of her bonds. Then she must have clawed her ankles free.
As he removed the collar and picked her up as gently as possible, careful not to brush against any open wounds, she flinched, and the twisting of his stomach worsened. A bloody outline of her body remained in the dirt. A body at least ten pounds lighter than he’d last seen it. Crimson streaked her skin in multiple places. Her dark locks were tangled and caked with mud. A metallic scent wafted from her.
He wished he could give her the Water here. Anything to ease the anguish she’d been forced to endure. But the Water would pain her more than the whipping. At first. If she thrashed, he’d have an easier time controlling her movements in his private bathroom.
Somehow, Bjorn found the strength to carry her there. Yes, he stumbled along the way, but he never dropped her. To his relief, Thane and Xerxes were gone.
He didn’t blame them for what they’d done. Had the situation been reversed, he would have whipped anyone who’d harmed either of them. Hurt my boys, suffer the consequences. But. He wasn’t happy with them.
Perhaps the whipping could be Fox’s punishment for slaying the ten? That, and oh, ten years behind bars? He just…he didn’t want to kill her.
There. He’d admitted it. What good would killing her do, anyway? Why rid the world of her strength and cunning?
He stripped Fox out of her only remaining garment: the thong. Trembling now, he eased her onto the lid of the toilet, letting her cheek rest against his shoulder. With one hand, he cupped her nape to lean her backward. With the other hand, he uncorked the vial and poured a drop onto her tongue. Then a second. Then a third.
Several minutes passed. An eternity. He remained tense. What if too much time had passed, and she was too far gone to be saved? He—
She threw back her head, her spine bowing, and unleashed an ear-shattering scream. Those screams only intensified as muscle and flesh wove together. A process more agonizing than the initial injury—a process far worse for someone like Fox. The Water healed her, yes, but also attacked the demon. Distrust’s pain was her pain.
When no more gashes remained, she sagged against Bjorn, her features relaxing at last. Relieved to have the worst part over with, he fiddled with knobs, starting the shower. Then, he picked her up and carried her into the stall. Hot water rained over them both, soaking his robe and washing the blood and dirt from her skin.
He expected her to wake as he washed and conditioned her hair, but she never even cracked open her eyes. He expected her to wake when he scrubbed every inch of her body…nope. When he stripped out of his robe and dried her off…again, nothing.
Still not looking at her naked form. Not even a swift peek.
Maybe a peek.
No, no! Resist!
One of his hands brushed the side of her breast, and he fought to silence a groan.
Moving on. Still expecting her to wake, he gently eased her atop the bed…brushed her hair…and dressed her in a large T-shirt. The material bagged on her small frame, but he liked it. A lot. Adorable female. Or maybe he enjoyed seeing her dressed in his clothing?
With a sigh, Bjorn tucked the covers around her. Midway through, he caught himself smiling. In slumber, she lost her murderous edge. She looked young and innocent.
Fool! There was a chance she would awaken, attack him, and run. He should cuff her to the bed, he knew it. But…
I don’t want to restrain her. Which meant “fool” was too kind a designation for him.
In the end, he slid in beside her. A mistake! Moaning, she rolled to her side and cuddled into his. Her curves… Soft, where I’m hard. Heat radiated from Fox, enveloping him. Searing him. He sucked in a breath, her sweet scent filling his nose and fogging his head.
Bjorn hadn’t held a sleeping woman in centuries. Not since Leema. With everyone else, he’d bailed as soon as he’d come.
Sighing, Fox snuggled more comfortably against him.
Bail. Yes. Bail now!
Too late. His cells caught fire, lust burning through him. Need clawed at him, and sweat beaded on his brow.
Not because of Fox. He hadn’t self-pleasured lately, that was all. Pressure had been building for months. He would have reacted this way to anyone.
Ignore the near-euphoric sensations. He gritted his teeth and fit a wing underneath her, then turned, becoming the big spoon. He draped an arm from one of her shoulders to the other, thereby pinning her in place. If she moved, he would feel it and awaken. If he fell asleep.
Oh, he would most definitely fall asleep.
He might have slept the past three days, but he hadn’t rested. He’d merely rebuilt his energy—energy he’d used up taking care of Fox. Already, his eyelids were too heavy to hold up. Strain seeped from his bones, his muscles.
Bjorn didn’t resist. He let himself drift off as he wondered: How can Fox the Executioner fit against me so perfectly?
Chapter Eight
Fox moaned with surprised pleasure. Since the whipping, she’d existed rather than lived, agony her constant companion. Every time she’d breathed or moved, she’d cried like a stupid baby, her pain worsening. The slightest breeze had made her pray for death. Meaning, she’d prayed for death every moment of every day. Now, she felt amazing! Better than. She was brand-new, cleansed from the inside out.
Distrust hadn’t gone silent, but he’d stopped speaking in favor of groaning. As if he suffered, too. Perhaps he’d gotten injured while Fox slept? Was that possible? And if so, how?
Wonderfully groggy and sublimely full, she stretched. Oh, the bliss! Not a single twinge of discomfort.
Someone must have carried her to a bed because oh, baby, she lay on the warmest, softest sheet of all time. Probably a silk-cloud blend. Mmm, and they smelled incredible. Like sandalwood and…Bjorn?
Heart rate picking up speed, she fluttered open her eyelids. Ugh. Blurry vision. Where was she? And where was Bjorn? He hadn’t visited in days.
Movement at her right. She tensed and lifted her head, blinking rapidly. Her vision cleared at last. Bjorn! He was here, stretched out beside her, one of his soft, downy wings cushioning her from neck to ankle.
I’m in bed with Bjorn.
I’m in bed with Bjorn, and we’re cuddling. Naked?
Heart racing faster, she lifted the covers. She wore a T-shirt but no panties. He wore—air hitched in her lungs. He wore nothing but his tattoos, and they looked good on him. Really, really good. A wealth of symbols and old language letters decorated his powerful lower body.
An-n-nd her heart picked up speed yet again, knocking against her ribs. Had she ever seen a more beautiful male? Sunlight bathed him, his bronzed skin glistening with a slight mother-of-pearl sheen she’d never before noticed. Mesmerizing. In certain light, the color appeared as dark as ebony. In others, as pale as snow. And his long, thick black lashes must be the envy of every false-lash aficionado, and his lips…plump, pink and kissable.
Arousal stirred, hot and liquid, threatening to melt her bones. Different parts of her ached in the best way. All of her needed.
When she could breathe again, she inhaled his erotic scent deeper into her lungs. Mmm. A sensual fog formed around her mind. Wait. She sniff-sniffed. The guy did not have morning breath. He had cotton candy breath.
Did she? She covered her mouth, breathed out and sniffed. She did! As if she’d gargled with sunshine and rainbows. But how? Why?
Mum
bling something unintelligible, Bjorn drew her closer. His eyes remained closed, even as he glided a hand up the ridges of her spine to cup her nape. She luxuriated in each caress.
Kill him and leave. Now! Before he kills you.
Now she tensed, preparing to leap out of the bed. Then realization hit, and she relaxed. Stupid demon! Obviously, Distrust hoped to feed, so he could strengthen and heal from that mysterious injury he may or may not have. Either way…
I shouldn’t give him what he wants. Last time I listened to him, I murdered the ten.
Fox’s inhalations turned shallow. Just to be contrary, she softened against Bjorn even more. Not for any other reason. Nope. Not a single one. But, oh, this felt incredible.
“Do you have any weaknesses?” she whispered, tracing her fingertips along his jaw. Dark stubble tickled her, and she shivered. Miracle of miracles, her blood turned into wine. No, champagne. For the first time in her life, she felt drunk. No wonder humans loved alcohol. So, she did it again, tracing his jaw, applying more pressure and covering more ground.
He had the softest skin, but his lips…his lips were even softer.
As she shivered, his eyelids popped open, those rainbow irises glittering as if dusted with diamond powder. She gasped and yanked her hand back to her side. But he moved quickly, too quickly for her to track, and latched on to her wrist to forcibly flatten her palm on his chest, just above his heart.