AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Everyone around me gets hurt. Because of who I am, people close to me will always be in danger. Which is why I can never drag someone else, someone normal, into this bloody world of mine.
“That bad, huh?” Isabella says. “Damn, if I had known I would be dying today, I would’ve written up a will. But alas, too late now, I suppose.”
Her joking words pull me out of my bleak thoughts, and I chuckle. “Alright, calm down there, smartass.”
She doesn’t say anything, but even with her back to me, I swear I can feel her smile.
The supplies in the first aid kit rustle and clink as I pull out a small bottle of antiseptic and some wads of cotton. After pouring some liquid onto it, I dab it against the top of her wound.
This kind of substance stings when it’s applied to a wound, and yet Isabella doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t react one bit.
As if she also realizes that, she sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth even though it’s two seconds too late. I don’t comment on it.
Instead, pain and anger flashes through me as I glance down at the old scars and burn marks on her body. If I ever get my hands on the one who did this to her…
“There should be some Band-Aids or something in there,” Isabella says.
I finish wiping away the dried blood before searching through the kit until I find a large enough Band-Aid.
Even though her hair only reaches her shoulders, I find myself drawing my fingers at the edge of it to push it out of the way. A shudder ripples through her body as my fingers gently brush against her skin. I know that it’s stupid, and dangerous, but I still take my time moving her hair aside. Then I draw my fingers down her shoulder blade and towards her wound.
After I put the Band-Aid on, I trace the edges of it. To make sure that it will stay in place. And because I can’t make myself pull my hands back just yet. Completely transfixed, I trace the edge of her shoulder blade with my fingers before trailing them down her spine.
Her skin prickles at my touch.
I swallow. Hard.
Fucking hell, what is it about this damn assassin that makes me want to throw all sense of caution and logic to the wind.
She’s an enemy. A mark that I’m trying to con into telling me what I want to know. Nothing more.
She’s dangerous.
She’s so fucking dangerous.
And yet, all I want to do is to run my hands over her body, taste those lying lips of hers, and hear her moan my name as I draw pleasure from her lethal body.
Why does she have to affect me like this?
Why does she have to make me feel less empty? Why does she have to make me feel more real? Why does she have to make mefeel?
I can’t do this.Wecan’t do this. This is too dangerous. She is too dangerous. I need to put some distance between us. I need to remind myself that she is my enemy. She is a part of the group that killed my parents. This would be crossing a line that cannot be uncrossed. I cannot sleep with my parents’ murderer.
She didn’t murder your parents, my mind whispers to me.She is the one who saved your life.
I block it out. No. Too dangerous. Far too dangerous.
Pulling back abruptly, I let my hands fall away from her back.
I’m just about to stand up and leave when she turns around.
And those blue-gray eyes trap me in place.
Because in them, I see the exact same desperation that is shredding my own soul apart. That desperate need to feel alive, to feel real, for one fucking minute instead of just playing a scripted part in the fake lives we both lead.
Sliding my hands into her hair, I crush my lips against hers.
She stiffens like a board.
