Gunnar steps back quickly, like I just hit him. “Fuck you like I hate you?” he repeats in a horror filled whisper.
His reaction is enough to tell me I really messed up. “That’s not what I meant,” I rush out, but I know he’s not hearing me. I can see his eyes moving from left to right as if he’s examining something inside his head that only he can see.
“Gunnar,” I say, hoping to pull him from his thoughts. “I swear on everything, I did not mean that in a bad way.”
He yanks his arm away from me when I go to touch him. Recoiling, he asks, “What other kind of way is there?” But it’s not really a question.
I tip my head back and take a deep breath. There is no way I’m letting him walk away from this feeling bad about what just happened between us. Especially not because I stuck my foot in my mouth since I was experiencing real feelings and shit. “Sometimes you touch me like I’m fragile,” I start softly. “Like I might break into a thousand pieces if you aren’t careful.” I lean back against the wall and tap my fingers on the sides of my thighs. I want to cover myself now, which is so stupid. I always feel so much more exposed when I’m talking to them than I do when we’re having sex.
Gunnar’s brows drop again, and his lips turn down in a heavy frown.
“I know you don’t hate me, Kitten. I would never let someone who hated me touch me like that. I would only letyoutouch me like that, because I trustyou.”
Gunnar does a double take, as if he can’t believe what I just said, but his eyes are still narrowed, making me feel like he still doesn’t understand what I’m saying. I reach for him again, and this time he doesn’t pull away. “I want all of you, Gunnar, not just what you think I can handle. Your monster doesn’t scare me. I love all of you.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my throat feels like it’s about to close up. I try to swallow, but I can’t remember how. I just keep moving my tongue around in my mouth hoping my brain will start sending the right signals again soon.
“You love me?” The suspicion is gone from his face, and it’s been replaced with a wide-eyed look of wonder as he gazes at me.
My insides are feeling kind of jittery, but Kitten doesn’t look so upset anymore, so I can get through it. I nod, or I think I do anyway. “How could I not love you?” is all I can manage to say.
Gunnar makes a noise that is half laugh and half incredulous snort. “I’ve known a lot of people, and none of them have loved me, Dami,” he murmurs, sounding a little self-deprecating.
I reach over and turn the water off just to give myself a few seconds before I respond. I don’t want to mess this up again. “Well, I do,” I tell him, more convinced than ever that it’s true. I can hear the truth in my own words.
Gunnar flips his arm over so he’s now the one holding on to me. He guides me from the shower stall and reaches for a towel to wrap around me. Once he has me enfolded in the white fabric that smells heavily of bleach, he bends his knees until we are eye level and whispers out a demand. “Say it.”
“Say what?” I whisper back, staring right into his eyes. I know what he wants, but I can never make things easy.
One side of Gunnar’s lips lifts in a sneer that might scare other people, but it just makes me smile wider. “I love you,” I tell him slowly, so he can hear every syllable. His mouth opens a little as if my words are a surprise.
My jaw drops open, too, when he seems to stumble and somehow ends up on his knees in front of me. “What the hell?” I mumble, looking at the ground and wondering how he slipped. Gunnar buries his head against my towel covered chest and squeezes me. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. I already know he loves me. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here with me.
Chapter 7
The bed is empty when I emerge from the bathroom. My steps stall. I sure didn’t notice Calix leaving, I was too engrossed in Gunnar for that. I wonder if he left because he knew what Gunnar and I were doing. Who am I kidding? Of course that’s why he left.
I’ve been able to carve out alone time with each of them for the past few weeks. Gunnar and Grim both still have duties, and Calix always seems to disappear often enough that it’s not an issue, but this is proving that maybe everything is not as rosy as I like to pretend.
At home, it’s as if they’ve worked out some sort of schedule for sleeping. Most nights I go to bed with Calix and Grim, but wake up to Gunnar and Calix. How the hell are we going to make this work long-term? Will I always have to worry that one of them will get sick of sharing me and leave? I’ve been getting the best of all three worlds, so I haven’t let myself question it too much.
I’m still standing in the center of the room with only my thoughts and the towel wrapped around me when I feel Grim’s portal forming. My stomach sours when the sins waft into the room upon his arrival. A feeling of nausea overcomes me, reminding how I would feel as a child when my mother forced me to eat.
I just manage to keep the gag from escaping my mouth when the portal closes, taking the sins with it. Hot saliva pools in the back of my throat as the urge to vomit continues to climb up from my stomach.
It takes me several long seconds to make sure that when I open my mouth, I’m not going to puke. As I turn, Grim places my luggage on the unmade bed, then he tosses Calix’s large duffle bag into the chair near the window.
“Ah, Grim.” He stops what he’s doing immediately and turns his attention to me. No one has mentioned the fact that I haven’t been hunting sins or eating them, but this new symptom makes me feel like there’s something going on other than just overstuffing myself with souls a few weeks ago. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt off when I thought about eating, but it’s definitely the most severe reaction I’ve had. What if consuming the witches’ souls really did taint mine somehow?
“What is it, Damiana?” Grim straightens to his full height and looks around as if he already knows there’s something wrong.
I wet my lips. “I haven’t eaten since that night at Vanessa’s.”
“Are you hungry?” He rounds the bed, heading in my direction. “I can feed you,” he offers, already forming the portal.
My stomach seizes. “No!” I shout, while waving my hand and covering my mouth with the other. The sins snap back just as quickly, but the feeling of nausea lingers even longer this time.
Gunnar pokes his head out of the bathroom and scowls. “What are you doing?” He glares at the back of Grim’s head.
Grim completely ignores the comment, and observes, “You’re unwell.” He says it as if it’s a completely foreign concept.
