Betas, like Vane and I, are hard-wired to protect. So the quick, quiet briefing he gave me in the bathroom damn near broke me. In any normal thrall bond, we’d have felt the instant she decided to do something drastic. But with her mind still foggy from her trauma and our bond still nascent, most of what I feel from her is hunger and static.
Vane sways slightly, distracting me, and I approach them both, keeping my movements slow and predictable so as not to alarm Evie. Our bodies will adjust to provide all the blood she needs and—as her thralls—she won’t be able to drain us to death. That doesn’t mean we can’t pass out, and Vane looks like he might. My brother is big enough to crush her if he does, so I move to intervene.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” I rub slow, soothing circles across her back. “Evie, if you let him go, we can get you clean and into some clothes.”
Her draws on his neck slow. I can feel her interest, but it still takes her a while to withdraw from him, so I add, “Shower, clothes, and then Netflix. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a TV binge.”
Introducing her to the TV will serve two purposes: she’ll hopefully relax a little, and immersing her in popular culture might make her feel less alienated by the modern world.
When she releases him, I pull her into my own arms and look at my brother. “Get some sleep. We’re fine and Gideon’s around.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he leaves anyway.
I waste no time in carrying Evie into the bathroom. The water’s still warm, but I double check the temperature before helping her in. The vampire recoils as the first drops of water hit her skin, but relaxes after a few seconds. Dirt and blood sluice from her skin, coating the white shower tray in brown sludge. I try not to look at the skin that’s being revealed. She’s been naked since she came out of the coffin and—for the most part—I’ve managed to keep my eyes on her face. If she bites me again, I doubt I’ll have the same self-control.
I don’t want to be the dick who messes up her head with sex while she’s still healing.
She’s shaking, I realise, as I turn the temperature dial up another few degrees. Women like warm showers, right? I’m rewarded when she tips her head back under the water and sighs.
Then her legs give out without warning. It’s all I can do to catch her before she hurts herself. She flinches, only to still when she realises what she’s done. Her hiss of anger and embarrassment are cute, but they don’t deter me. I keep one arm under hers, holding her up, and pass her a bar of soap with the other.
If I’d bothered putting on a shirt, it would be soaked right now.
“Take it slow. We’re going to help you get back on your feet, but it’s going to take time,” I murmur. “I can help wash you if you need me to.”
She shakes her head, her movement infinitesimal but obvious.
It takes a long time, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, but eventually the last flakes of decaying fabric and dried blood wash down the drain.
Still, she scrubs at her skin like a woman possessed until I have to intervene to stop her from rubbing her skin raw.
“Lean back,” I say. “I’ll do your hair.”
The inky black waves are a mess of tangles and certainly beyond her ability to fix in her current state. It takes me almost half an hour and almost a full bottle of shampoo to remove all of the knots.
“There she is,” I encourage, holding up a towel and helping her wrap it around herself. “They all said you were gorgeous, but I was having a hard time seeing it under all the blood.”
Her scoff is slight, but I smile because it means I’ve gotten through. I grab a second towel as she slumps against the edge of the sink and start to dry her arms.
“Here, I’ve got a spare shirt somewhere.” I snag one from a pile of clothes on the floor, give it a quick sniff to confirm it’s clean, and hand it to her.
I’ve already seen her closet, and she isn’t wearing anything from it any time soon.
Every rail is taken up with replicas of the same dress. The red and black lace is stunning, but it’s undoubtedly part of whatever mind games Cain is already playing on this vulnerable woman.
Fucking asshole.
The shirt dwarfs her. Lycan biology makes us naturally bigger than the other races, and Evelyn is barely 5’5” as it is. Still, I offer her a pair of clean sweatpants and help her step into them before crouching down to turn up the cuffs.
“Have you seen the den yet?” I ask, taking her hand and tugging her gently out of my room.
If I’d known she’d end up in my space, I’d have tidied my shit up. I’m not generally a slob, but living on the move, as Cain has expected us to for the last few years, makes a guy a little reluctant to bother unpacking.
Gideon thinks we’ll be here for some time while we help Evelyn recover. Perhaps Ishouldstart using the wardrobe.
She follows me like a distrustful, wounded animal through the huge apartment we’re all sharing. Evie’s the very definition of vulnerability, if you ignore the intelligence with which her eyes scan every detail from the lights to the random art on the walls.
“This is the den,” I announce, pushing open the door to the most used room in the place. Two huge sofas sit in front of a massive screen that covers an entire wall. There are normally views over Eden Park from the huge windows opposite, but the blinds slide closed automatically at sunrise for vampire comfort. All the glass in the building is specially treated to lower the impact of the sun’s rays on them, but glass can’t stop the natural tiredness that takes over their bodies during the day.
