“Did I do something wrong?” I ask.
“I’d hoped you were hiding something from me, but it seems he really hasn’t claimed you yet.”
“You can tell that from a kiss?”
“That wasn’t a kiss,” Valentine scoffs.
“It wasn’t?”
“Trust me, you’ll know when I’ve kissed you,” he says with a frustrated sigh as he takes another sip of his drink before placing it down on a nearby table. “I suppose we should deal with your injuries in the meantime.”
Valentine moves out of sight behind me, and I suddenly find myself being lowered backwards to stare up at the ceiling. Now flat on my back, Valentine is standing look down at me from directly above my head.
I hate how beautiful he is even in this position. Valentine leans forward to adjust something, the silk of his open robe brushing over my face and giving me more than eyeful of his perfectly chiseled torso.
How is this even possible at … whatever age he is?
He’s pure muscle, his skin taut and as smooth as any I’ve ever seen. Smoother even.
As the silk continues to brush across my skin, I can’t help but notice that he smells faintly of vanilla and smoke.
Valentine straightens and moves around to the side of whatever it is that I’m strapped to.
“What are you going to do?”
“Your bones have to be reset before they can be healed.”
I feel his hand cover my own before his fingertips glide over wrist and up my arm, pushing the oversized sleeve of Dante’s shirt out of the way in the process.
“How—”
My question turns to a scream on my lips as he suddenly shifts one of my arms and I hear it crack.
Valentine continues moving his hand up my left arm before moving to my left shin. Knowing what’s about to happen as his hand comes to a stop. I try to bite my tongue to keep from cry out, but can’t help the whimper that escapes me.
Valentine doesn’t say a word as he resets more bones than I’d like to count. The whole process must take no more than ten minutes, but it feels like a lifetime.
“Is that it?” I ask when he finally straightens again.
He doesn’t answer as he bends and slips his arms beneath me to lift me up off the table. I feel like a ragdoll in his arms, even as he repositions my head against his chest.
I think I hate this even more than being restrained as pain shoots through my body with each and every step he takes.
He places me down on a large bed before pulling back.
“Is that Dante’s shirt?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightens as he leans down and rends it down the center so the buttons all pop off in one fluid motion. Tears fill my eyes as he unceremoniously rips it from my body before tossing it aside.
His eyes linger a moment too long on my naked torso, and I hate that I can’t move to cover myself, before he pulls off his own silk robe and drapes it over my chest.
“What now?” I ask.
“I fix you.”
Without the black robe the sun spilling through the windows behind him bounces off his skin and hair, haloing him in angelic light as he reaches up to tie his hair back.