Before I slipped into unconsciousness, my last thought was that this was such a stupid, useless way to die.
I’d acted recklessly, I’d let emotion get the better of me. Strange how imminent death can bring such sudden clarity. My anger, my grief, my despair — they were useless to me now. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered if I was dead.
I floated in pain, the sounds of the Eldbeasts’ horrible cries surrounding me. Their cries grew worse, they became an endless cacophony of screams, howling, snarling. And then…
Then I heard Zane’s voice. I felt his arms around me. The pain got worse and worse, but the howls were gone. I was warm. It was quiet. I drifted deeper to escape the pain.
Death couldn’t hurt this much, at least…I desperately hoped it didn’t.
Something tugged at me, pressing against the awful ache in my side. I weakly tried to shove it away, even though my arms felt like stones dangling from my shoulders. My vision was just a blur. Trying to focus on anything made my head swim.
“Easy, easy. It’s just me.” Zane again. His deep voice was like a warm fire, a soft blanket, a steaming mug of cider. I wanted to sink into it and lose myself in it. It occurred to me suddenly that he’d probably be really good at reading bedtime stories.
It then occurred to me that I’d lost way too much blood, and it was making me loopy as hell.
He lifted me, holding me tight and close against his chest. God, he was so warm. So, so warm. I nuzzled my face against his chest, even though his shirt felt dirty. It didn’t matter that he smelled like blood — his scent was still there, buried beneath, rich and comforting.
I wanted that scent in a goddamn candle.
But even his warmth couldn’t keep the cold away. I kept drifting in and out of the dark, my eyes too heavy to keep open. I shivered, and as if from a great distance, I heard him say quickly, “What’s wrong? Why are you shaking?”
I laughed a little, or at least I tried. It may have sounded more like a gross hiccup. But he sounded so worried, so…so concerned. For me. But why would he worry over me? If I died, it just saved him the trouble of having to fulfill his end of the deal; I’d be going to Hell regardless. I managed to get my eyes open and realized we were standing inside, in his living room. All the curtains were drawn over the windows, the lights were on, and he was holding me cradled in his arms.
I looked up at him, frowning down at me. “You’re a mess,” I said softly. I needed water. My throat was so dry it hurt. “You’re all…you’re all dirty.”
He shook his head. “You’re one to talk. You look like the leftovers at a meat market.”
My lightheadedness demanded I close my eyes again. When I next managed to open them, I was lying on the couch, my head propped up on a pillow. Zane was crouched over me, his eyes narrowed in concentration. There was the prick of a needle piercing my skin and a tug as my wound was stitched together.
I looked at him in silence for a long while. His intense concentration was focused on the gaping wound on my upper arm, my flesh ripped open by the Eldbeasts’ claws. The pain of the needle was nothing in comparison to all the other agony my body was going through.
“I guess I’m not…not very sexy like this, am I?” I said, my voice little more than a croak. His bright eyes glared at me before he went right back to tying off my stitches. “Did you…did you hear me screaming?”
His face twitched, an expression I couldn’t fully understand. He set aside the needle and picked up a cloth instead, using the damp rag to carefully clean away the blood and dirt on my arm. “Yes. I heard you screaming.”
The warmth of the damp cloth felt good. His hands on me felt so nice I could have moaned, and not even in a sexy way. It was just that everything hurt except his gentle touches. “Why…why did you come back?”
“I never want to hear that sound again, Juniper.” He gripped the cloth in his hand, his fingers slowly curling into a fist around it. He was shaking his head, his jaw clenched so tight that a vein in his temple was slowly turning black. “I never want to hear the way you sound when you’re in pain like that…when you’re scared like that…” He looked away from me, fixing his smoldering gaze on the far wall. “I slaughtered them all, Juniper. Every single one. I promise you right now that nothing that dares try to hurt you gets to live. Nothing.” His voice became a growl and he closed his eyes, breathing slowly.
He was so angry I could feel his arm shaking as he went back to wiping down my skin. I didn’t understand, and it made me frightened again. My heart began to beat harder, and that awful grip of anxiety tightened its hold.
“Please don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “Don’t…just…” He sighed heavily. “I need to bathe you. And get you into bed. And give you pills.”
It was like he had a mental checklist of how to keep me alive. It was…sweet. It was kind. Too kind. Far kinder than he should have been. With a wince, I lifted my head from the pillow and braced myself on my arm. It was far more difficult than I’d hoped it would be. Trying to stand seemed truly daunting.
But I had to do this. I had to get it together. If I was alone, this all would have been up to me, and I knew better than to rely on anyone else.
“I can do it,” I said. “I just need a drink. Can you bring me a beer?”
“I’m bringing you water. You need hydration. Do not get up.” He jabbed his finger at me, stopping halfway to the kitchen. “I swear to fucking Lucifer, don’t try to stand up off that couch.”
I leaned back against the cushions. Christ, just sitting up made me lose my breath. And I wasn’t about to listen to a demon tell me I couldn’t drink. “I’ll get it myself!” I said, but raising my voice made my head swim, and I groaned, clutching it in my filthy hands.
“You fucking will not.” He was already back, offering me a glass of water and two tiny bottles of pills. “You can’t drink alcohol with this prescription.”
I hated that my hands shook as I reached up to take the pills and water. The pills were each prescribed to someone different — one was penicillin, the other was oxycodone. My eyes almost bulged out of my head.
“Did you steal these?” He shrugged, standing over me like he expected me to run for the door. As if I could manage a single step without falling on my face. I usually avoided shit like oxy; getting used to comfort just made it worse when it wasn’t available anymore, and I never had money for doctors. But God, everything hurt. I put one of each pill on my palm and drank them down with half the glass of water. I really had needed the hydration, far more than I’d realized. I drank the rest almost immediately.
“Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He didn’t even give me the option to walk. He scooped me up from the couch like it was nothing, and I settled my head against his chest again as he carried me up the stairs. His heartbeat was strange, sometimes slow and sometimes wildly fast, like the organ didn’t know how exactly a demon was supposed to operate.
“You’ve got a weird heartbeat,” I muttered, and he chuckled.
“Demons aren’t built for Earth,” he said. “Our shit is a little wonky.”
He set me down again on the bathroom floor, running the shower so it would get hot. I felt like a ragdoll, all my limbs floppy, my strength non-existent. I’d endured serious injuries before, but this…this was the worst.
And it wasn’t even as bad as it could have been.
“Thank you.”
He turned toward me, unzipping his jeans. “What was that?”
“You heard me,” I muttered. His sarcastic grin confirmed I was right. “I don’t know why you came back. I don’t know why you…care. If you care. But I just —”
He squatted down in front of me, arms resting on his knees. “I take care of what’s mine.” He reached out, his claws brushing my face as he tucked a wild strand of my hair behind my ear. “It’s as simple as that. You’re not alone anymore, Juniper. Get that through your thick skull.”
There was a strange feeling in my chest as he stood and finished undressing. It felt…warm. Warm and soft, squishing around inside me like pillows padding my heart.
“What are you doing?” I said, trying to distract myself from the not-unpleasant-but-definitely-terrifying soft feeling. “Why are you naked?”
“The better question is, why aren’t you naked?” he said. “I’m filthy, you’re filthier. We’re getting cleaned up.”
I nodded, and tried to strip off my shirt. But halfway over my head, my arms felt like Jell-O again, and I couldn’t manage to pull my hair through the neck, so the clothing was stuck like a bag over my face, my arms refusing to tug it any further.
“Fuck. Fucking…stupid…” The shirt was pulled out of my hands, and Zane tossed it away into the corner.
“I’m not washing them this time,” he said. “We’re just throwing them away.”
He eased off my boots, and then my jeans. He was careful, slowing down every time I hissed in pain. He’d undressed me before, but this felt different. It wasn’t sexual, and yet it felt so intimate. When he lifted me again and carried me inside the large walk-in shower, I didn’t want him to put me down.
The feeling of his bare skin on mine — not in the midst of fucking but just touching — almost brought me to tears.
“Can you stand up?” he said. The water was so warm, washing away streams of blood and dirt down the drain.
I nodded slowly. “If you let me lean on you, I can.”
I hated to receive help nearly as much as I hated to ask for it. I’d gotten myself into this mess with my own reckless actions, and I felt like the help wasn’t deserved. I’d fucked up, I deserved the pain. Maybe it would make me remember to be more cautious next time.
But I was so tired. I was tired and raw, like a crab yanked out of its shell. I leaned heavily against him as he set me slowly on my feet, my legs trembling until I managed to lock my knees. I lay my cheek against his shoulder, my eyes only half-open, the hot water hitting my aching back.
“There’s blood in your hair,” he said. He was gripping my arms to steady me, and even in the steam from the shower, his skin still felt unusually hot.
My eyes were fully closed now. I was too tired to keep them open. “I should just shave it off. It’s filthy.”
“Lucifer’s balls, stop being such a fucking martyr. Sit down.”
He eased me to the floor. The shower was big enough for him to kneel behind me as I sat cross-legged on the tile, barely able to keep myself awake. He got my long hair wet, tipping my head into the streaming water. He squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his hand, and began to massage it into my hair.
I bit my lip. God, it felt amazing. His claws lightly scratched my scalp, massaging the soap through my hair, working the suds down to the very ends. He took his time, moving slowly, my body becoming more relaxed with every passing minute.
“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he said. “I’ve gotta rinse you.”
I closed my eyes as he tipped me into the shower’s stream. Dirt, blood, and grime were stroked out of my hair, his hands gentle as they rubbed all over my scalp. The heat had soothed the ache in my muscles, and the oxy was finally kicking in.
“I’m sleepy,” I mumbled, my head drooping down as he squeezed the water from my hair. I wanted to stay awake, but my body had other plans. I didn’t even know if I’d make it to bed.
“I know. We’re almost done.”
He stood up for a few minutes. I could only guess he was washing himself, but I couldn’t stay awake for it. I drifted off, nearly asleep when the water turning off stirred me awake again. Everything was a very sleepy blur, painkillers and exhaustion refusing to allow me to open my eyes as a towel was wrapped around my body and around my hair.
He laid me in bed naked, and pulled the clean blankets over me. His hands brushed my shoulder as he covered me, and I longed for more of that little touch. The thought of back-scratches and a bedtime story sounded really damn good to my ridiculous, sleep-deprived brain.
He said something about bandages, but I was too tired to pay attention. I was asleep within seconds.
