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Immediately, the moment we stepped foot in the Inn’s parking lot, proselytes began to exit two of three Brabuses.
They surrounded us, clearly concerned about their kingly leader.
“I’m fine.” Mal shooed them away if they were pesky flies. “The room keys?” he questioned.
“Here.”
He was handed four plastic cards, passing them all out except for one. He’d paired everyone up. Brody with Jin. Amo with Poet. Aurora with Takara.
“We can chill here for a few. Let’s meet at the diner in two hours. I’m going to clean this up.”
He split off from the rest of the group and went to the rear of one of the SUVs along with Amo and Rory. I lingered back so I could talk to Takara and Poet, trying not to pay too much attention to Brody.
I didn’t know too much about him other than that he’d joined Samael in the incredibly early stages of him building a faction. He was the tallest here and built like a tank. His masculine face had a long diagonal scar going from his left temple to his chin.
With a rugged beard and his hair in a complete undercut all the way around—no blending whatsoever—and the longer hair on top braided back in a man-bun, he had a peculiar attractiveness to him. The odd icy blue eyes added to the overall allure. The most exuberant I ever saw him was when inflicting violence.
“Are you two going to be okay?” I asked Takara and Poet.
“Ha, I plan to take a shower and sleep. I’m exhausted,” Takara replied.
Samael called my name to get my attention, waiting on me to go with him.
“Go on. I’ll meet you at the diner,” Poet assured.
“Okay…”
I left the two of them together and joined Samael near the Brabus. He had an aluminum box in one hand and a duffel in the other. I couldn’t tell how badly he was bleeding, but it was only natural he’d be feeling pain.
“Let me carry the bag.”
“I got it.” He angled his body so I couldn’t grab it.
We entered our room, and he tossed the bag on the bed, carrying the box straight to the bathroom. I looked around as I followed him. It was obvious that whoever was responsible for this place tried to do their best. The jewel-toned abstract bedding wasn’t too shabby. It went well with the honey-colored walls. The AC had a strange smell to it and was rattling, but I’d rather that than be without one.
All in all, this wasn’t too bad .
Samael already had the sink running and a first aid kit popped open by the time I joined him in the simple bathroom.
The blue tiles had seen better days but seemed to be clean. Same with the shower and tub.
“Let me help you,” I stated determinedly, taking hold of his uninjured side.
He allowed me to guide him to the toilet and sit him down on the lid.
“You’re worrying about me now?”
“Don’t ask me stupid questions. When have I not worried about you?” I dug through the first aid kit and gathered what I would need. “Remove the shirt.”
He did as requested, without protest for once. I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move as I washed my hands.
“You’re really pretty,” he said quietly.
“What?” I nearly knocked the kit into the sink, catching it at the last second.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“Because…” I gave a shake of my head and found a simple white rag beneath the sink. Getting it damp, I gently cleaned around the entry wound.
“Because?” he pressed.
“I’m filthy, for starters.”
“I love you all the time, but that always reminds me how perfect you are—when you’re bloodied and covered in the filth that made you that way.”
“Are you in your right state of mind?” I asked, only partially joking.
“Have I ever been in my right state of mind?”
“True.”
I knew he wasn’t entirely bullshitting right now. He’d seen me at my best and my very worst. It had always been the hellish side of me he craved the most.
The part that was hollowed from grooves of darkness with an insatiable lust for his exclusive kind of volatile chaos.
“To answer your question, I feel fine.”
“In that case, you’re pretty too.” I continued to fix him up as we talked. The wound wasn’t bleeding all that much anymore, but the area around it had turned his usual gold skin a deep red.
“How bad does it hurt?”
“I’ll survive, but my morality will plummet if you stop taking care of me.”
He spoke as if he were being serious. How could he flirt right now? He’d just gotten shot. Granted, he didn’t cry out or complain once. It still had to hurt, and this had been completely avoidable. Speaking of…
“If you went ahead of me this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Or you’d be the one with the bullet hole.”
“I’m not someone people count on for survival. I’m also not as fragile as you treat me.”
