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“Don’t—” Arsene protests as Nur yanks open his shirt.
Nur hisses when he sees the tourniquet. “Idiot.”
“Are you angry?” Arsene asks him quietly.
His fingers tighten on Arsene’s collar. “I could kill you for leaving without saying a word. I hate that you made me feel this way.”
“What way?” he breathes. He needs to hear it.
Nur’s gaze is fierce. “Afraid to lose you. Afraid I didn’t trust you enough to believe you’d come back.”
Nur’s breath is hot on his cheeks, his sharp teeth glinting. He could rip Arsene’s throat out right now and Arsene would thank him for the privilege. “But you did trust me.”
“Don’t do it again,” Nur growls, dragging him into a kiss that burns and bruises. Finally, he’s in Arsene’s arms where he belongs. Powerful and hungry, pinning Arsene against the steel wreckage and dragging him down to take his fill of Arsene’s mouth. “I need to feed. I hate that it’s the first thing I want from you.”
“Do it,” Arsene croaks, heat and wanting crashing over him on top of his exhaustion.
“You made me like this. Addicted to you.” Nur tugs at his hair to expose his neck with one hand, and Arsene bends. His cock already swells with eagerness. But the first bite hurts. He cries out. It hurts more than it should.
Chapter 41
NUR
Cold reality sinksin the moment he bites down. Arsene shouts like he’s been stabbed through. Nur’s stomach turns and he lets go. The blood left on his teeth is bitter instead of sweet.
Arsene slumps in his arms.
Gone is the arrogant, strong angel whose pride prevents him from admitting to any hurt. In his place is an exhausted, hollow-eyed version of his mate. Nur holds him upright, ignoring the hunger that claws at him. This is the longest he’s gone without feeding since he met Arsene, but his head clear—clear enough that he’s disgusted by his callousness.
“It’s okay.” He lets Arsene sink into him. His head thuds onto Nur’s shoulder and a faint groan vibrates through his chest. “I’ve stopped.”
“Hurts,” Arsene mutters, his arms going around Nur. He hisses. “That hurts, too.”
“Stop moving your arm, idiot.” Nur is hot and furious and tired. He’s come out to this spot every night, waiting for Arsene to come back. Hoping beyond all hope. Holding his breath against doubt that would turn his heart bitter and cold. All he wants to do is sink into the warmth of their bond. “Let’s go back to camp.”
The wound in Arsene’s inner arm is deep, almost to the bone. He’s seen worse, but this one makes him sick. Irvin’s brow goes tight when Arsene pulls the shoulder of his shirt down.
“It’ll heal,” Arsene says as the doctor brings out bandages and a bottle of clear disinfectant.
“It’ll heal badly if you leave it in that filthy tourniquet. Good job for work on the fly, but at least let me clean it, or you’ll end up with blood poisoning—I don’t care what species you are.”
Arsene grits his teeth through a cleaning that would make a lesser being cry. Watching his muscles shudder as Irvin pours alcohol over the ragged wound makes Nur so angry he has to leave. He fetches the dregs of dinner from the fire and steals two of Rhys’s carefully guarded sweets. When Rhys wakes, groggy, Nur tries to duck out of the tent. But his friend’s voice stops him.
“He’s back?”
“Yes.” It comes out rough.
Rhys lets out a sleepy sigh. “I want a word with him.”
“Me first,” Nur mutters. “Go back to sleep.”
He gets back to the medical tent and all his anger is washed away when Arsene meets his eyes. His gaze is dark with emotion. Need. Irvin finishes hooking the bandages shut and stands, wiping the blood off his hands with a rag.
“That’ll do. Is it too much to ask you not to use that arm while it heals?”
“Probably,” Arsene admits, his eyes never leaving Nur’s face.
Irvin looks between them and sighs. He claps Nur on the shoulder, the casual touch jarring. “I’ll leave you to it. Give him an earful for me.”
