Page 173 of Scarlet Wars
“There it is,” I muttered, annoyed as hell at the man before me. “You stupid, reckless bastard.”
My golden haze flared bright and hot around my palms. I pressed one hand near the wound, the other hovering an inch above. “Hold still. I need to find this bullet before I can fix you.”
“Didn’t realize you were such a surgeon,” he managed, breath ragged.
“Didn’t realize you were so suicidal,” I bit back, still shaking with rage.
I locked down, threading my haze like a scalpel into the torn flesh, mapping damage with clinical precision, finding the metal lodged deep, scraping muscle with every shallow breath he took. I clenched my jaw and pulled.
Caden hissed, his hand slamming against the tile, his head folding forward as the bullet slid free. I caught it, then translated it away.
No relief. Not yet. I shoved my golden energy through his veins. I traced every tear, sealing ruptured vessels, knitting muscle, patching whatever I could.
My haze burned into the wound, forcing torn muscle to obey until the edges dragged together under my hands.
He groaned, almost animal-like, as if the pain had stripped him down to something older and rawer.
My lungs burned and my vision blurred, but I kept pushing until the wound closed beneath my hands, until the blood slowed to a fickle, and then to nothing. Until I could feel him stay.
When I finally let go, I sagged against him, chest raw, forehead resting against the slick plane of his shoulder. “Done,” I whispered, shredded by effort. “You’re okay now. You’re?—”
“You did it,” he muttered into my ear, his voice low and rough.
I kept my fingers pressed to the faint glow of the scar under his ribs. “Don’t ever make me do it again. I mean it, Caden. Youjump in front of me again, I’ll shoot you myself just to prove the point.”
He let out half a laugh, half a groan. “I love it when you threaten me.”
I looked up, hair stuck to my face. “Congratulations,” I said dryly. “You survived your own stupidity.”
But my hands betrayed the lecture.
They drifted, on their own, lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, following the sharp line disappearing beneath the V of his pants. His body twitched where my fingers crossed that boundary.
Caden’s breath snagged as his hand shot up and closed around my wrist. His grip was firm and shaking, not to stop me but to steady himself, as if restraint cost him every ounce of control he still had left.
My gaze followed the line of his body, down to where water poured over him, washing crimson into rivulets that swirled toward the drain.
The outline of his suddenly hard cock straining against his blood-soaked pants was impossible to miss this close.
“You’re hard,” I whispered, my eyes locked on the thick length. The sight alone made my throat go dry.
A low growl vibrated from deep in his chest. “You’re touching me,” he grinded out, like it was explanation enough.
I swallowed, forcing my trembling hand to stay steady as the last of my golden light spilled from my fingers into the torn skin of his abdomen, softening the jagged edges of the scar beneath his ribs. “To smooth it out,” I spluttered. “To make the scar less visible. Not to…pleasure you.”
He pinned me in place. “Bet I’d heal a hell of a lot faster if you did.”
I managed a scoff. “Fucking player.”
Caden released my wrist. “Says the woman who rode my dick last night like the godsdamn goddess of sex herself. Consider it a fucking miracle I haven’t come in my pants yet.”
I pressed harder against his already healed wound, pretending it was intentional, like I wasn’t unraveling with every second. “You talk too much.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper that brushed my skin. “And you tremble too much for someone who isn’t turned on.”
Damn him. Iwastrembling.
My hand drifted lower, almost without thought, traitorous in its own hunger. His cock pressed thick and swollen against the damp fabric, and I was…fuck, I wasdicknotized. My fingers twitched like they had a will of their own.
