On impulse, I reach over and turn one of the rusty knobs on the row of sinks. The pipes in the walls groan and clank, and I hear Kael snort and shift his big dragon body on the other side, no doubt ready to rescue me. After a moment, water gurgles and spits forth from the faucet. It’s brown and cloudy at first, but then turns brilliantly clear, and I gasp with delight. Water. Flowing, delicious water. I’m so thirsty. I cup my hands under the flow to drink, then flinch at how nasty my hands are. I need to clean up first—
The door to the bathroom flies open. It slams into the opposite wall, the subway tiles crumbling under the force. A human-sized Kael stalks in, his eyes black, teeth bared.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, taking a step backward. “It’s just water. I promise. Nothing’s wrong.”
He looks at me, then at the spraying tap. His nose twitches, and it’s almost comical to see him realize that he’s panicking over nothing. He leans over the water, sniffs it again, and then straightens. “Clau-dah,” he rumbles in a deep voice.
“Right here,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest with amusement. “Not letting all that killer water get me.”
He reacts to my smile with one of his own and moves toward me with a possessive prowl that makes my skin prickle in ways that are not entirely driven by fear. The big, clawed hand brushes down my arm. “Clau-dah Kael.”
“Yeah, yeah. Clau-dah’s not going anywhere without Kael,” I say, shivering at the gentle touch. I step aside and gesture at the water. “Clau-dah just wants a drink and a quick bath, if that’s all right.” I take another step toward the water and mimic washing, and when he doesn’t stop me, I put my hands back under the tap.
Oh god, it feels amazing. The water is cool and crisp, and I scrub at my hands and arms to clean them off, and when the filth is gone, I cup my hands and drink mouthful after mouthful until I can’t drink anymore. There’s a rack of old paper towels nearby, the stack puffy and warped from exposure to the elements, but I grab a few anyhow and wet them down, then scrub at my filthy body.
In the mirror, I can see Kael watching me with interest. After a moment, he moves forward and cups a handful of water, then gently pours it down my arm.
“Yup,” I tell him, doing my best to ignore his movements. I shiver because it’s that weird mixture of fear and enjoyment again. I both love and hate that he wants to take care of me. I hate that I’m so lonely that even a dragon’s attentions are exciting. I need to stay focused, though. I have water here, and I want to finish my quick bath before I get interrupted. “I’m cleaning off, because I’m gross.”
He watches me, then touches my wet arm, brushing his fingertips over my skin. “Clau-dah.”
I freeze, pausing in my scrubbing. The tone of his voice makes my hackles rise in awareness. Goosebumps prickle all over me. There had been an utterly husky note in his voice just then. I glance over at him, but he simply reaches for the paper towels I hold in my hand and begins to gently wash my arm. His strokes over my skin are soft, loving, and he’s careful to avoid my wounds.
I let him, because what else can I do? Sure, he’s a little, er, randy, but he’s been kind to me, and protective. Pushing him away with an angry ‘no’ when he’s being gentle might test his patience and send his eyes to black again.
And okay, maybe I’m weird, but his touch is actually really nice. His fingers are warm, and his caresses skim over my arm in a way that doesn’t feel grabby, but appreciative. Exploratory. When it’s clear he’s not going to grab at anything I don’t want grabbed, I relax and let him continue. When he brushes the wet paper towels over my shoulders, I turn to give him better access to my back, lifting my filthy hair to help him out. “Thank you,” I murmur, watching him in the mirror.
He’s got a massive hard-on. I mean, of course he does. The man always seems to have a hard-on. But the look on his fierce face is intent, as if he’s determined to be the best shoulder-cleaner ever. It’s charmingly endearing.
Strangely enough, I’m not afraid of him anymore. Kael has been nothing but gentle and attentive, and despite his obvious arousal, he hasn’t tried to do anything about it. Even the bathing is innocent so far. For some reason, he views me as his, and he’s determined to take care of me. There are worse situations to be in.
His fingers slide down the curve of my back, and I shiver at the small touch, my skin prickling with awareness.
Did I say the bathing was innocent? Because it seems to have taken a bit of a turn…
Strangest of all, I find his touch…intriguing. Pleasant. My nipples are hard, and I shift in place, a little uncomfortable with my body’s response. Am I getting aroused at his touch? Dear lord, what is wrong with me? He’s a dragon and half mad. I’m pretty sure he’s killed more people than I have squirrels. He’s definitely the enemy. And yet…his touch makes me feel breathless and squirmy. Like I can’t wait to see if he’s going to move his hand lower, and what would happen if he did.
Maybe it’s just been a really long time since someone’s touched me with kindness and that’s why I’m getting all turned on. Or maybe it’s some sort of perverse dragon version of Stockholm syndrome.
Kael is oblivious to my worried thoughts. He dips the paper towels into the running water again and dabs at my opposite arm. As he does, he makes that low, thrumming sound in his throat…and then pauses. I look over, and he’s gazing down at the long, angry red line of my gunshot wound. It’s not much more than a deep scrape, but as I watch, his eyes flare to black again, and I know he’s getting upset.
“It’s okay, Kael. It doesn’t hurt, really.” I put a bright smile on my face. It does hurt, but him losing his shit could potentially ‘hurt’ a lot worse. “It’s barely anything.”
His eyes flick from black to gold, gaze settling on me.
“I’m fine. Truly.” When his eyes go dark again, I take a chance. I touch his chin and force him to look me in the eye. “I need you to be calm. I promise I’m fine.”
“Clau-dah.” His voice is ragged, upset.
“I know. Clau-dah’s fine, I swear.” My mind plays back the image of him biting the soldier in half, over and over again. Why does my small wound matter when he chomped someone else in two? Why am I so important? Is it because I’m a girl? Or is there something deeper here? I don’t know what to think.