Frowning, Kira entered, and a swirl of steam engulfed her, making it hard to see inside the gray-tiled bathroom. In this sub-zero temperature, the heater would have taken time to warm up… He’d made the water hot. No matter the friction between them, her heart melted.
Clothes stripped off, teeth clacking like the devil’s army attacking, she dashed under the hot, cascading water. Oh, God. She moaned in relief as her blood finally unfroze and limbs warmed.
Then the pain hit.
“Oww,” she cried out, hastily pivoting to face the falling water and protect her back. She shut her eyes, letting the stinging tears wash away.
Fists pounded on the door. “Kira?”
Nooo, not now. “I’m fine.” She breathed through her pain. “It’s nothing—”
“Then why the hell did you cry out?”
“Bumped my elbow,” the white lie tripped free.
Christ. Kira bit her lip hard, her moan stuck in her throat, her back hurting like hot nails gouging her skin. She hadn’t just hit the wall during the attack, the monstrous thing must have clawed her, too.
“Kira!” More hammering.
“Gimme a few minutes.” Inhaling a trembling breath, she found a bar of soap and a bottle of half-used shampoo and conditioner on a ledge and tried to complete her shower before Týr came barging inside.
What the hell was taking her so long? Týr stopped pacing to glare at the bathroom door. His cell rang. Jaw clenched, he retrieved it from his pants’ pocket. Hedori.
“Yeah?”
“Kira?” their butler asked, voice heavy with concern. “Jenna’s quite agitated, said something is wrong. Is she okay?”
Dammit. With Dagan’s mate’s mother possessing the sense of foresight, there was no avoiding this. Just as well it wasn’t as invasive as the Celt’s. Hell, the bastard’s premonitions were unsurpassed, considering here he was with Kira. Gut-deep, Týr realized he was hurtling into chaos, and the universe only knew what else, but there was little he could do to stop the fateful fall when the female drew him like the tragic moth.
Exhaling roughly, head lowered, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, she’s fine. A little mishap.” He gave Hedori a quick rundown of what was afoot and then listed what he required, his gaze back on the bathroom door. “And we’ll need food.” Even though Dagan had given him this place, his fellow warrior’s lifestyle of no solids didn’t help them. “Also, would you ensure that the wards on the cabin are still up and good when you get here?”
“I will attend to it, sire.”
“Thanks, man. And quit damn sire-ing me to death!” Týr ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. The silence coming from the bathroom was starting to garrote him. “Kira!” he bellowed, thumping the door with his palm.
It opened, steam billowing around her like a cloud. Kira stood there, a towel wrapped around her body, and another concealing her hair. She eyed him warily.
“What the hell happened in there?” he demanded because her cry had been one of unadulterated agony. She bit her lip. “Answer me, dammit!”
Huffing out a breath, she turned and gave him her back.
Týr stood there, his stomach roiling, and his lungs screaming for air at the sight of the three, six-inch-long lesions scoring her shoulder blade—her flesh torn open. Blood seeped down her back, the towel absorbing the flow. Some part of his brain must have slammed back into gear because his right hand rose, and his palm hovered over her injuries. He let his restorative power flow through him, but the lesions continued to ooze.
C’mon—c’mon! He gnashed down on his molars, pushing harder with his healing powers…nothing. Fuck! This shit wasn’t going to cut it.
He strode into the foggy bathroom, opened the cupboard beneath the basin, and hoped like hell Dagan had some of the Oracle’s healing salve and strengthening potion there. As his fingers snagged on something in the cavernous back…bottles and a container, he heard Kira’s soft footsteps leave the room.
He got a small towel from the shelf and dampened part of it before he went after her. He found her downstairs seated on the stone step of the fireplace.
She looked up as he approached, pale beneath her normally luscious, tan skin. Her red-rimmed eyes revealed the tears she’d shed. His stomach did several shaky flops as if acid were corroding his insides. Kira always had an opinion or a biting comeback—the latter mostly because he instigated it. Now, she remained quiet, and it gnawed at him like a throbbing wound.
Hell, he should have just stuck to the plan, not give into his damn desire to be with her. And because of him, she’d been viciously injured.
Jaw clenched, he sat next to her, set the first-aid box on the floor and the towel on his lap. He unscrewed the potion bottle and the pungent odor of moss or decaying leaves flooded their air space. And it tasted like shit. He ought to know. “Here. Drink this. It’ll speed up the healing.”
She shook her head and reared back. “Nuh-uh! I’m not taking that. Do you know what Gran puts in there?”
“Don’t care. It does the job.” He grasped her jaw.
“For heaven’s sake—” She shoved his hand away, swiped the bottle, and tilted it to her mouth, gulping down the thick sludge. “God! It tastes every bit as vile as it smells,” she moaned, looking a little green in the mouth as if she would puke. She thrust the bottle back into his hand. “There. Happy now?”
“As long as it heals you. Turn around. I’ll patch up the wound, and you’ll soon be good as new.” He hoped.
A feminine snort left her, but she shifted, giving him her back. At the sight of the bloody slashes marring her delicate skin, anger swept through him again, fear fast on its heels. The bastard could have marked her, too.
“Hey…” At her soft voice, Týr lifted his gaze and found her watching him over her shoulder. “It’s not like I’m dying or anything, you know. I’m okay.”
He ignored her attempt to lighten his mood. “Then why were you crying?”
“Uh…well, it hurt really bad beneath the water.”
Mouth clamped tight, he gently dabbed the wounds. Despite his tender attempts, Kira’s shoulders tensed. Carefully, he let his fingertips brush the unmarred skin surrounding the lesions, trying to ease her. So soft. Something inside him ached to hold her, comfort her…wishing he had that right. He didn’t, and that fucking tore at him. He finally applied the mossy-smelling goo over the gashes.
Her shoulders rose and fell as she exhaled a shaky breath. “It doesn’t hurt so much now. Thank you.”
“This never should have happened. I shouldn’t have taken you with me.” Anger at himself burned deep as he cleaned up the bloody smears on her skin with the damp towel and then tossed it aside.
“Really?” That hazel stare swung back to him. “You couldn’t have stopped me, so don’t beat yourself up about it.” Her gaze lowered to his jaw. Her brow creased. She twisted around and lifted a hand to gently touch his wound—a caress he felt all the way to that hollow organ in his chest still pumping blood.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m fine.” His voice sounded like it belonged to another, all raspy and shit.
“Uh-huh…” she murmured, the sound thick with disbelief. She reached for the bottle of ointment, but Týr grasped her wrist and shook his head.
“Why? I’m guessing the same thing hurt you, so Gran’s potion should help.”
He didn’t want this injury cured. If this lesion were a tracking device, he wanted the bastard to find him. He’d make the fucker long for death for dare coming after him, and he’d learned how in the most gruesome ways while trapped in that hellhole, Tartarus. He settled for, “I don’t want it healed for now.”
Lines marring her smooth brow, she removed her hand, depriving him of even that small touch. She fingered the rips in his sweater. “Another wound you don’t want healed?”
The new injuries were mere scratches compared to hers. “It’s nothing.”
Her expression tightened at his offhanded repl
y. “Is that so?” A flush of irritation reddened her cheeks, and she dropped her hand. “Why do all you Guardians behave like dunderheads when hurt?”
“Dunderheads?” He arched a brow, amused now.
She wasn’t.
“You freak out when I’m bleeding, but you force me to watch while you’re hurt. How is that fair?” she demanded.
He didn’t speak, couldn’t. He forgot his injury, forgot that she was mad at him, completely caught in her spell. Those gorgeous eyes burned bright in annoyance but were edged with anxiety, too. She worried about him.
Get your shit together, man, she worries about everyone else, too. The reminder struck him hard, but it was the absolute truth. Kira cared. About Tomas. About Shadow. She’d even jumped through a portal into the Dark Realm with them to rescue Echo.
This is who she is.
Hell, he wished he could shut off these damn feelings squeezing his chest. Being this close and keeping his gaze—and hands—off her was fucking hard to do. And trying to remember she was not only the Oracle’s granddaughter, but human and forbidden was rapidly fading from his mind.
He got busy repacking the first-aid box. “I’ll set up the bed on the couch, the room’s still too cold. You should get some rest.”
“Týr?”
Damn. The way she said his name, it was like a compulsion to look up. It would be a huge mistake, and yet, he did. Hell, this was Kira, so how could he not?
He had no idea what she sought for while searching his eyes, probably his many sins. It wasn’t something he ever wanted her to see. But the emotions racing across her face appeared as equally tangled as his.
“I…” Then, startling the hell outta him, she leaned forward and pressed her tempting mouth to his, stunning him speechless.
Oh. Fuck!
At the sensual touch of Týr’s warm lips on hers, Kira’s breath caught in her throat. His lips were hard yet soft, sensual…and he wasn’t kissing her back.
Oh, God. She was such an idiot. Heat scalding her face, she jerked back. She’d only meant to say thank you, not to kiss him, but the way he’d looked at her, like she was all he saw…
Her stomach twisting in embarrassment, she jumped up from the stone step, needing distance. But Týr snagged her wrist before she could escape. Something dark and intense raged in those caramel depths as he rose like an uncoiling predator to tower over her.
Her heart pounding in her ears, the words burst free, “I’m sor—”
“Don’t care.” His big, warm palm slid around her nape, and his mouth captured hers in a deeply carnal kiss as if whatever control he’d hung on to had snapped. He licked inside her mouth, devouring her with sensual strokes then he captured her tongue. Her breath caught. This wasn’t a kiss, it was an assault of her senses, a dark, carnal flame that consumed her whole, where nothing else mattered. Just them.
His touch, his taste, his scent, the way he sucked her tongue—the way his big hands moved over her body, it all sent her mind spinning into an eddy of unbelievable pleasure. She was melting…burning. A whimper tore loose, desire flooding her.
“Dammit, Kira…” he groaned, shifting his hold to her hips. One hand squeezed her towel-clad bottom and his erection ground into her aching sex.
His raspy voice cracked through her pleasurable haze. Kira pulled back, inhaling huge gulps of air. Týr stared at her with eyes gone a searing gold, his breathing slightly ragged, his lips damp from their kiss. But nothing else showed on his face.
In the last decade and a half of her life, she’d done a few scary and some stupid things. But to kiss Týr? Because, as usual, she didn’t think, she’d just jumped in with both feet. It didn’t matter that he’d responded, she’d started this.
Her stomach hurt at the reality.
He isn’t meant for you, Kira.
God, didn’t she know that? Her heart pounding painfully, she wheeled away and rubbed her suddenly cold arms. Týr was too dangerous to the emotions she’d kept locked away for so long. Everything was unraveling, and she had no idea how to even begin putting up her protective walls again.
“Can we just forget this happened?” Her voice sounded husky with need.
“No, I won’t.”
Kira squeezed her eyes shut in despair. “I suppose I deserve that. I only meant to say thanks—”
“I don’t want your damn gratitude.” Callused fingers grasped her upper arm. Her eyelids flew open as he dragged her back to him. Hastily, she clutched her towel, but the one holding her hair fell, and her damp tresses tumbled free. He was so close, there was barely an inch separating them. His blazing eyes scorched hers. “Why the hell did you kiss me then?”
She’d seen Týr angry, but she’d never seen him this furious. Did he dislike her that much? With a trembling hand, she pushed back her damp hair, a deep-seated hurt unfurling. “Because you helped me! I said I was sorry. Why are you so worked up over a kiss? Besides, you didn’t have to kiss me back!”
A tic throbbed furiously on his jaw. Then, all those raw emotions etching his rigid features realigned into a cool mien. Without a word, he headed for the first-aid box.
God. How could this have turned out so messed-up?
Týr returned with gauze and tape. Her hand flashed out, stopping him from getting close. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“How do you plan on treating that wound? Contort like a gymnast?” he asked, tone edged with mockery.
She scowled. “I don’t want your help if you’re going to be in this shitty mood.”
“And you wonder why?”
At his quiet comment, she blinked, not certain if she’d heard right. But meeting his determined stare, a shiver of apprehension trickled down her spine. Bone-deep, the knowledge stirred, this was a reprieve. He wasn’t letting it go.
Kira understood exactly how a cornered mouse felt, except he was no darn cat, but a lion…stalking prey.
“Turn around, Kira.”
His commanding tone had her instantly obeying. Ugh. She scrubbed her tired face.
He scooped her hair away, his fingers brushing against her skin. Desire swam like molasses through her veins. Kira bit back a moan, her fingers fisting her towel as he applied more salve to her shoulder blade, grateful that he couldn’t see her face.
Finally, he taped on a dressing. “There. It should keep your hair away from your injuries. And Kira…we’re not done yet. Not by a long shot.”
His promise coasted along her nape. Her heart slammed in panic against her ribs.
And, as if he hadn’t just said anything life-altering, he calmly dropped the tape back into the box—and then went utterly motionless, his eyes narrowing. Like the dangerous animal she always thought him, Týr prowled to the huge window showcasing the snowy night. A detached lethal quality underscored his stance as he scrutinized the outdoors.
Despite her emotions bouncing all over the place, unease crept through her at the sudden change in him. She hurried over. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Here.” His obsidian dagger materialized in his palm. He handed her the weapon. “Use it. It will immobilize an immortal if not taken out of their body. And they can’t remove it.” He opened the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t leave the cabin, not for anything.” The wooden slab slammed shut behind him.
A shiver skating down her spine, Kira clutched the weapon to her chest and peered through the window. Týr stood on the porch, surveying the night. She couldn’t see or sense anything deadly out there, but then she didn’t have heightened senses like him.
Regardless, whatever was outside, she didn’t want to face it almost naked. With her own clothes wet and ruined, she went for the first thing she saw…Týr’s jacket.
He’d left it on the couch, and it was toasty warm. His scent of citrusy bergamot and leather enveloped her almost like a caress. And as if her fingers had a mind of their own, they traced her still swollen lips. Her tummy dipped, recalling his mouth on hers—tasting, demanding more—no! Thi
s wasn’t helping.
Admittedly, she didn’t know much about the man behind the stunning façade—aside from him living to torment her—but in just a short few hours tonight, she’d come to know so much more. Týr cared, even if he didn’t always sound like it with his blasé attitude and sarcastic tongue.
But whatever this attraction between them was, it could only be transient. She, more than anyone, understood why.
Her mind slipped back to a year ago when she’d gone into the Dark Realm with Týr and Blaéz after a demonii had abducted Echo. Aethan had killed the monster, but Echo’s spurned ex, in cahoots with said demonii had shot her friend. In her pain and fury, Kira had snatched a dagger from the person nearest her and stabbed the insane jerk.
Slowly, she caressed the cool, black blade with her fingertips. Even if she couldn’t recall whose weapon she’d used, it had been Týr who’d taken the dagger from her afterwards. Not Blaéz.
Months later, Echo had revealed the truth of exactly what the warriors’ weapons embodied before showing her. Only a true mate could summon a Guardian’s obsidian dagger once she touched it. Out of curiosity, Kira had tried soon after, but the weapon didn’t appear when she willed it.
Drawn as she was to Týr, reality had shown her the truth.
Kira dropped the dagger onto the table. She wanted to be with someone who would be hers alone, not destined for another.
Chapter 10
Týr stood on the porch, still reeling from the sensation of Kira’s mouth on his.
That kiss…
Hell! He rubbed his face, cutting a quick look across the frozen lake where a she-wolf and pup gamboled playfully to slide across the smooth surface before bounding off into the trees.
The moon slipped out from behind the dark clouds, casting a silvery glow over the landscape. Týr jogged down the steps, his boots sinking into the soft snow, and scanned the forest surrounding the cabin.
Heart's Inferno (Fallen Guardians 4) Page 10
