“He’s a good kid, but was bloody traumatised when you passed out. Came barrelling out, standing over you, ready to fight us to the man to keep you safe.” He shook his head slowly, staring at the floor. “Tough little guy. You two, you’ve seen shit, had to put up with shit that no one should have to. I guess this,” he hefted the yoghurt, “and a few movies makes me feel like I’m helping somehow. I can’t erase what happened, but I can make him feel safe, that not all men are like his sperm donor.”
Peter appeared at my shoulder. I felt his presence before he even got close, sapping the tension in my body, and a wave of something warm and comforting washed over me when his hand came to rest on my arm.
“Pete’s been looking after you; I’ve been seeing to Kade. You can take all of that over once you’re feeling better, but right now, just let us take the weight for a bit.”
Which was how I ended up being led into the master bedroom, still in hospital scrubs, and laid down on the bed. Peter brought me my medication and a glass of water, which I nearly choked on when he pulled his shirt off.
All of the hard promise I’d sensed while leaning against his body was instantaneously revealed. There was no softness in him anywhere, except for his eyes and his lips. This was a powerful body, with muscles built for tough work or punishing blows, which was perhaps why I was surprised by what came next.
I realised I probably should have asked exactly what a mate was when he slid onto the bed beside me. It was huge—he could have starfished alongside me, and I still would’ve had a massive space to sleep on—but slowly, surely, he moved over. He tucked a pillow under his head, and then looked at me for a moment before reaching out and gently, carefully, knowing exactly which spots to avoid, pulling me closer.
This had been the closest I’d been next to another man for over a decade. He just watched me blink, sucking in his woody scent, feeling the warmth radiating off his body now that I was pressed up against it. The skin on the side of my arm that rested against his chest and abs burned at the contact. He let a long breath out and placed a gentle hand on my stomach, one of the places I ached the most. Brown eyes watched me gasp at the wash of heat. Despite the fact that he made no move to do anything else, there was something almost sexual in the intensity of relief he provided. He noted the point when my lips fell open, when my breath came in quick pants as the heat spread further.
The sensation brought back a memory I’d pretty much forgotten, from well before Rick, when I was still at uni and I’d been with a guy who was as into me as I was him. We’d spent endless days just hanging out in my room, sitting tangled up in each other’s arms, revelling in that animal sensuality that comes from being young, compatible, and in love. We’d fucked like monkeys, but that was almost beside the point, the sex a lovely side effect of what we had b
een building together.
I glanced at Peter, searching those impenetrably calm eyes, wondering what the hell was going on with him that he was sending this down the bond we seemed to have. But I didn’t get a chance to ask. He reached down, so slow I could have pulled away a million times, but I didn’t. This shouldn’t have been happening, it was way too early to be touching anyone, but I arched slightly up into him, not knowing what was about to happen but wanting to.
His lips landed on my forehead, gentle as a feather, and an explosion of warmth came with it, washing away the persistent headache temporarily. My eyes closed as his hand went to my face and stroked down my cheek.
“Just rest, Flick. Sleep and heal.”
9
I expected to have nightmares. This should have been the point where a demonic Rick reared his indefatigable head and punished me over and over again. Instead, I felt like I drowned in honey.
Whereas sleep before had felt a bit like being smothered by smoke, this felt like being buoyed by a velvety cloud. I felt airy and weightless, transmuted from heavy flesh to shimmering veils of pleasure. It wasn’t sexual precisely. I didn’t have a body, so to imagine ways it could intersect with another’s was irrelevant. Rather, I was sensation, a lovely, breath taking feeling that almost ached in its intensity. It had a strange timeless quality, which didn’t contain the frantic tides of arousal. I was just lulled, held within its grip, until my eyes decided to open.
He was watching me when I woke, something that should have creeped me out but didn’t. He could have done what he liked while I slept—I wouldn’t have known—but his hand just remained on me over my clothes, on the small of my back now as I had rolled into him and burrowed down into his chest, my head resting on his arm. When I looked up blearily, he smiled.
“How long was I out for?” I asked.
“The Phantom Menace is over, and now they’re into Attack of the Clones.”
“God, that long? It didn’t feel like it.”
“I know.” I frowned at that. “The bond goes both ways. I don’t know what you’re thinking or anything, but I can feel it.”
My mouth went dry, and I rolled onto my back, staring into his eyes. He smiled slightly, as if hoping I’d do the same, and I wanted to, I felt that tug. But what I’d experienced felt intensely personal.
“It’s OK. You just felt happy, really happy for a while. It was nice, and I was bloody glad I could do that for you.” I felt his hand moving in gentle circles, my attention yanked to the wavering warmth it generated.
“Are you…distracting me?”
His grin was bright, then gone again a moment later.
“Ophelia said you would struggle with this. That taking a mate bond was hard for people born outside Sanctuary.” His eyes dropped down to where his hand rested. “I just wanted you to know how it feels. The minute you came to me, when you…” His breath stopped for a moment, and I watched that muscular throat swallow. “Taking your bite was the most fucking intense thing I’ve ever been through. It made everything that came before it fade into the background.” I almost flinched at what simmered in his gaze when he looked up at me. “You’re not there yet, you might not ever be, but, Flick…” His eyes dropped to my lips and stayed there. “If you do, I’ll be right there waiting for anything you choose to share with me. Now, you must be starving.”
As if on cue, my stomach grumbled, and he smiled. He went to pull away, to take away that lovely warm pain free feeling, but my hand slapped down over his without thinking. It pressed his hand harder against me, then up, under the short hem of the scrubs. His eyes widened when his fingertips grazed my bare skin, when I moved it up under my shirt a few inches. He was going to say my name, break the spell, but I shook my head, then closed my eyes as I felt whatever this bond did flare hard.
I was throwing myself headfirst into that which felt good, I knew that. Much easier than dealing with what had happened, what I needed to face. But I could be excused, just this minute, couldn’t I? I hurt so fucking much, the sound of the ashtray cracking into Rick’s head filling my mind with little effort. So it was understandable, to rub this strange, beautiful man’s hand over my stomach, to twist under him oh so slightly as his touch burned through me.
“Flick…”
His voice was a low rumble, of admonition and desire all torn up together, and I wanted it. He was mine, this was right, if I just pushed his hand…
Wait, what?