Page 81 of Inflict

“And this one, too,” Evelyn said, her hand moving higher, resting over his ink of three skulls resting atop one another. One was blind, another deaf, and the final one was mute.

“There’s a lot of them,” he admitted.

She hummed under her breath, her fingers dancing over the artwork that covered the majority of his torso, upper chest, and the full sleeves down both his arms.

“Why so many?” she asked.

Connor stiffened involuntarily at her innocent question. His tattoos, and the reasons why he had gotten so many over the years, were not a story he was willing to share. At least not right then, anyway.

“I like art,” he said, half telling the truth.

“You didn’t pick just one thing, though,” she said.

“It didn’t have to be one thing,” he replied simply, “it just had to be art, love.”

“Huh.”

Silently, Evelyn went back to her exploration of his tattoos. Occasionally, she found another one she liked for some reason or another, and he knew only because she stopped to linger on the piece longer than she had the others. Her soothing touches, soft skin, and the warmth of the bed were damn near enough to put him back to sleep.

Except, he didn’t fall asleep.

He didn’t want to miss something from her.

So, he watched his lover instead, under his lowered lashes, just as transfixed as she seemed to be on her task. He couldn’t bring to memory a morning that had ever been quite as quiet, yet good, as this one was so far.

Evelyn placed her palms to Connor’s chest and pushed up to sit straight. She was careful about doing so, but he still didn’t miss the slight wince as she sat upright fully.

“Your hands hurt,” Connor said.

She balled her hands into fists, and hid them at her sides. “It’s okay, really.”

“Let me see them, lass.”

“Really, it’s fine, Connor.”

He wasn’t taking no for an answer again. While the night before had come and gone from his memories in brief, yet poignant flashes, he still remembered the most important details. Things like the restaurant, the bar, the fool whose face had gotten broken, and the alleyway behind the business where …

Connor cleared his throat, and reached for Evelyn’s hidden, clenched hands. Carefully, he unballed her fingers, and opened her palms up flat for him to survey the damage. Red, angry scrapes covered her palms, likely from the roughness of the brick wall where they’d ended up together the night before. The scrapes weren’t dirty, and a bit of antibiotic cream would do wonders.

Connor sighed. “Shite.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“Maybe not, but they should be cared for. It’s feckin’ rude of me to have you like that, and not take care of you properly afterward.”

“I didn’t think of it that way.”

Connor met Evelyn’s gaze, seeing some unknown emotion flash in her eyes. “What, lass?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm, it’s something.” Connor set up in the bed, taking Evelyn with him. “You tell me what it is while I fix your hands a bit, all right?”

She didn’t look entirely agreeable to that deal, but nodded. “Okay.”

Connor found the items he needed in the bedside table—some antibiotic cream, and a half empty roll of gauze. He had a few other emergency essentials in there, should he need them, as this wasn’t even close to the first time he had woken up with a bloody something needing wrapped or cleaned. Usually, it was him that needed the care, not someone else.

With a tube of cream in his hand, and one of Evelyn’s palms opened to him, Connor said, “Talk.”