Page 41 of Vows of Blood
“You’ve got a lot of scars,” I say in an effort to disguise my admiration of his body. I turn my attention to the bloody bandage in his shoulder, gingerly removing it and setting it aside. It’s almost an insult to see the rippled and bloodied wound marring his skin. It’s like someone’s punched a bloody hole in the statue of David. “You must be really clumsy with the morning paper to have gotten so many papercuts.”
The bullet wound has little black lines in the center, cinching it closed. Still, there’s a pool of thick crimson oozing from between the cracks. I grab one of the clean bandages and pour antiseptic onto the cloth in preparation.
“You don’t want to hear the stories behind these scars,” he says. “It’s not the kind of thing that someone like you would want to—” He flinches and sucks air between his teeth as I dab the wound.
“You can take it, tough guy,” I say softly as I wipe away the clotted blood around the stitches. “I can take it, too. You won’t offend my feminine sensibilities by telling me who hurt you.”
One side of his mouth turns up. “What good will that do? Will you find them and avenge me?”
I chuckle. “I might. I am supposed to be your wife, remember? Wasn’t there something in those Russian vows about protecting one another and all that?”
His smile fades. “Yes. Something like that.”
I just nod as I finish cleaning his wound. It’s interestingly convenient, this injury. I know he didn’t get shot on purpose, but it sure keeps him from actually having a talk about us. The timing is impeccable.
And I don’t think he should get out of it so easily. If he wants to make amends with me, then let him. “You wanted to talk about staying together for the family,” I say.
He nods. “Yes.”
The bleeding has all but stopped from my cleaning, so I reach over and grab another bandage and some tape to dress the wound. “Your cousin thinks I should get to know you. She thinks it will help me see you as someone… different than this.”
He raises an eyebrow. “‘This’? What do you mean by that?”
I press the bandage to his skin and start the process of taping it in place. “Big, tough guy who beats potential rapists up and leaves them for dead in alleyways. Stoic, growling guy who leaves at dawn and comes back at dusk with a bullet wound in his shoulder with no explanation.”
The bandage is in place, so I sit back and engage him directly. He’s regarding me in a way that I don’t think I’ve seen yet, softened eyes with lowered lids, his mouth slightly pursed. “That’s how you see me?”
“That’s all you’ve shown me,” I tell him. “How am I supposed to know that’s not who you really are?”
He seems to consider that for a few seconds. Then, his smile returns. “I guess that says something about our perceptions about one another.”
I shrug and say, “To be fair, we both earned those stains on our characters.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.”
He frowns slightly. “You were a virgin all this time and no one knew. How did you earn your reputation?”
“Well, contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to fuck a guy to date him, you know,” I say with a little laugh. “I’ve dated a lot since my mother died. None of them lasted very long. I mean, longest relationship I ever had only lasted for about a month or two. And most of the time, the breakups weren’t my fault. Every guy I dated kept expecting me to put out and when I wouldn’t…” I look down at the bandages and antiseptic, avoiding his gaze. “Let’s just say that it’s a wonder my frigidity isn’t the thing that got around instead.”
“They all wanted to save face,” he says. “Boys have to lie about their prowess to impress their friends.”
I look up at him. Boys. Huh. That’s one way to put it. He leans forward and puts a hand on my knee. It’s rough and warm against my skin, but his touch sends an electrical charge through me, tingling me through my thighs and up between my legs.
“Men don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he says. “I know who I am. I don’t need the cheering section of children to increase my ego.”
“What are you saying? That you’re not going anywhere?”
He stares for a long moment, then, “I’m saying that even in a normal situation, it would take more than something like that to drive me away.”
Damn, this man turns me the fuck on. I bite my lip as his hand moves up my thigh. “Do real men overexert themselves when they’ve been hurt?”
He shrugs slightly. “If something calls for it.”
“Well,” I put a hand on his good shoulder and gently push him back to the couch, “I would rather you not rip open your stitches. I just cleaned your wound.”
I grab the bandages and antiseptic and stand up. He gives me a playful look as he reaches for me. I skirt out of his way to the kitchen. “You’re a skillful tease, Isabella,” he says to me.
