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“I care because you’re beautiful in more ways than you know,” I muttered.
Evie looked at me, her eyes shifting in and out of focus. I don’t know if she heard.
“I’d like to kiss you,” she whispered.
I stared at her, a tightness pulling at my chest.
How I’d love to take her up on that.
Maybe I could.
It was only a kiss, after all.
I leaned forward, stopping just short of making contact. I could smell the whiskey on her, and my mind, body, and soul were screaming conflicting messages at me, but I knew which pull was stronger.
When she closed the gap and pressed her lips to mine, a flame erupted behind my ribs, and I might as well have spent eternity burning in hellfire for the thoughts I had. For, at that moment, with her lips on mine and my hand reaching up to cup her cheek, she was more than a lost lamb, more than a human needing sanctuary and care.
She was Evie.
She was a woman.
She was beautiful.
She wasmine.
And she was everything I should know better than to indulge in. I saw her in all the ways I shouldn’t see a woman. But it was her, everything around me and in my mind screamed her name.
When she moved her tongue into my mouth, I jolted away. Brushing my thumb across her cheek before I lowered my hand to the bed, I forced a smile. “You need to rest.”
She nodded, licking her lips again.
Except this time, instead of tasting the whiskey, she was tasting me.
God help me.
ZAQIEL
Evie was tossing and turning in the bed, mumbles and moans escaping her lips. She hadn’t slept during the day, and she had slept so much over the past few days, it didn’t surprise me. But after a bathroom break and another small meal, she looked exhausted. Even the effort of the small movements she made today and simply keeping herself awake and alert, had sucked the strength from her. The weaker she got, the more fear I could see in her eyes. I hoped the fear wasn’t of me, but perhaps born from the knowledge that weakness opens her up to being hurt, and she didn’t want to be exposed.
I wanted to tell her she didn’t need to worry because I was here to protect her. But what stopped me was the ever-present reminder that I couldn’t always be there to do so.
I went into her bedroom, keeping my steps inaudible, and stared down at her on the bed.
When I placed a palm on her forehead, she stopped tossing and sighed, but a deep frown was etched into her brow.
“Can’t you sleep?” I whispered.
She opened her eyes, almost shining with tears, and watched my silhouette as I stood over her.
“It hurts,” she mumbled.
I thought it might. While the bath would’ve helped, it also would have increased blood flow to her wounds, reigniting the nerves and pain receptors. Also, redressing some of the wounds had also peeled away some of the skin that had begun healing, and the now re-opened wounds would be stinging as they were exposed to the antiseptic and throbbing with the sensation of the body frantically trying to heal them again.
I knew the alcohol was a bad idea. I didn’t know how I was justifying this to myself, but I just knew.
I shouldn’t have kissed her.
Moving away, I returned with a glass of water and some tablets, handing them to her. She slowly pulled herself in a half-sitting position, grimacing with every move.
