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He did what was required. It did not take long. That was all the thought he would give the matter.
He knocked before unlocking the door and stepping inside.
A fire crackled in the grate, casting a warm glow on the woman sitting in a nearby chair. She wore a silk robe, a delicate pink that caught the orange of the firelight.
“Is this how you treat guests? Promise them freedom and then lock them away?” Charlotte asked, her tone angry. She had been so warm and genial all evening, and even more so when they were alone. Technically, the next morning, the flush of excitement had no doubt worn away and she had time to regret her actions. Now fury heightened the color in her cheeks and brightened her eyes. He wouldn’t apologize for finding that attractive.
His gaze honed in on her throat. Not but hours ago, he had lavished his attention there, not caring if he left a bruise or other discoloration. Now he quite wanted to see his mark on her.
Charlotte raised a hand to her neck in defense. In such a position, he could see the cloth that had been crudely wrapped around her thumb.
Silence stretched out between them, filled with the crackling of the fire.
“You’re injured,” he finally said, his voice distorted from his descending fangs.
“I broke a glass. It’s stopped bleeding.”
Yes. The aroma of the dried blood under the makeshift bandage tantalized him.
“It must be cleaned properly. Remain seated,” he said.
There was a first aid kit in the bathroom. Inside, he discovered that several of the supplies were missing. Used and never replaced? Or stolen? With a critical gaze, he inspected the room. He tested the taps, pleased to discover that the hot water was hot. His instructions were to keep the guest suite fully outfitted, but people could be greedy creatures. Of course, he should never ascribe to greed what could be simple laziness. Why restock the first aid kit if no one used the room? Who would know?
An escaped beast and missing supplies. His house was in disarray.
When he returned, Charlotte had tucked her feet under herself in the chair. He kneeled at her feet, angling himself so as not to block the warmth of the fire.
With the kit opened, he gestured for her hand.
She thrust it out, turning her head to avoid looking.
He unwrapped her thumb. The cut was an angry red.
“I did not take you for the squeamish type,” he said.
“I’m not,” she replied instantly. “It hurts worse if I look at it.”
“There is some science to that,” he said, gently cleaning the area with a damp cloth. “There are a few factors at play. If you are observing an injury, you have likely stimulated the surrounding nerves by moving. Observing the injury can also activate pain receptors in the brain. The hands also have a high number of nerve endings, compounding the problem.”
She remained silent, watching as he applied a salve.
“I do not believe the wound will require stitches,” he said.
“You don’t have some relic from Old Earth that can fuse my flesh back together?”
“No,” he said, his tone harsher than he intended. “That device has not worked in a century. Even when it was operational, I would not trust it. Too much could go wrong, and then you would be without a thumb.”
She paled, her eyes wide. To her credit, she did not snatch her hand from his grip and scramble away. She remained calm, watching as he applied a clean bandage.
He found himself reluctant to let go of her hand. The skin was soft and warm. He brushed his thumb over her wrist. Her pulse fluttered. The skin was delicate there, so easy to puncture and…
“Thank you,” she said, pulling away to cradle her hand against her chest. “What happened out there tonight?”
“Do not worry yourself. The situation is under control.”
“Who was it? Don’t try to tell me it was not a beast. I know what I heard. Was it Miles?”
“No,” he said, offering no further explanation.
