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“You need stitches,” she says.
“You just want to stab me again, even if it’s only with a needle, don’t you, tiny scorpion?”
She doesn’t deny it. I chuckle.
“No stitches. I’ll just rip them open and make a bigger mess when I rut you. Cover it with a bandage and leave it be,” I say.
She chews on the inside of her mouth. I growl and pinch her chin.
“Stop, tiny scorpion. I’m the only one allowed to hurt you.”
Her pupils shrink. I ghost my thumb along her bottom lip and deepen my purr.
“What’s your name?”
“Vynn.”
She blinks, jerks back, and glares up at me as though I betrayed her. I smirk and pull her lower lip down.
“You’ve known my name for years, so it’s only fair I know yours, although I think tiny scorpion is fitting, too. Your eyes tell me you’d like to sting me again. Do you need another lesson, Vynn?”
She rises in slow motion, unwilling to trigger my instincts but desperate to get off her knees. I track her movement, ready to pounce the moment she flees.
“No, I don’t need another lesson, but I do need a better bandage. And tweezers. You’ve got metal in your back.”
There’s nothing wrong with the fabric clenched in her fist, and the tiny slivers of debris in my back and calves are so shallow they barely register, but I allow her the distraction and enjoy the view of her backside as she rummages through the first aid kit.
I stay in my seat solely through the promise of her hands on my flesh, but plan to ravage her the moment she finishes bandaging my hip.
My cock pulses in agreement.
My nose says she isn’t ready.
I grind my teeth.
I’ll make her ready.
And I’ll enjoy it, too.
Chapter 7
Vynn
I turn and hesitate before kneeling as far away from his side as the counter will allow. A slow trail of fresh blood oozes from his wound, and even though he deserves every moment of pain, remorse wells in my soul.
My appa always spoke of his mentor with the highest respect. I misunderstood the pain in his voice every time he mentioned the nameless male. I always assumed it was because Alpha Fore murdered his mentor and thought my appa would forever mourn him like a lost loved one. I thought the tightness in his face when he spoke of Alpha Fore was because he feared and hated him for killing his mentor.
Now I know the truth.
He was in mourning, but not because his mentor died a gruesome death. No, his pain rose from knowing he’d broken this alpha’s trust. He’d failed. He’d hurt the male who’d saved him from self-destruction in the slums and given every ounce of his pride to protect the female he loved more than himself.
The guilt slowly ate him alive every day, even as he cherished his omega mate and doted on his headstrong daughter.
I scoop a dollop of ointment from the tin and gently smear it over Fore’s wound.
My appa never spoke of Alpha Fore with malice, either. He feared Fore’s wrath, but never added to the rumors circulating about the massive, terrifying alpha. The monster I built in my mind originated from my own terror and the whispers of a scarred devil who destroyed everyone in his path. My omma’s nightmares—which she’d rarely speak about but would often wake screaming from—had added fuel to my misconception.
I smooth the edges of the bandage over his wound and absently run my fingers over his flesh. How can someone so big and mean have such soft skin between his scars?
