Page 27 of Condemned By Pain
I’ll deal with him once I’m finished with her. He’s switched loyalty faster than the people who work for me. It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t make me kill more people by the end of these eleven days.
I rest my elbow on the armrest and prop my head on my hand, temple against knuckle.
When was the last time I slept like she’s sleeping?
Twenty-four years, eight months, twelve days ago. The day Alexander Bennett killed my father.
I had no love for my father—his death didn’t affect me—but the consequences of it destroyed my life.
The daughter of that man sleeps in front of me, and I’m watching her.
I shouldn’t hope for much. Let revenge wait. By the time this ends, there may not be enough of me left to recognize. I can see it happening, and I don’t like it one bit.
She turns onto her back, resting her hand on her stomach, a frown tugging at her brow. This is the same hand she spilled soup on.
I rise from the couch, go to my kitchen, and grab a first aid kit before returning to Bruno’s room. I walk silently toward her. Bruno comes to me as I settle onto the floor beside her. I open the ointment; he sniffs the tube. I squeeze cream onto a cotton pad and set the tube aside.
I dab the cream onto the reddened skin on the back of her hand with the cotton, then lift her hand gently and tend to the front. I check her other hand for burns as well. None on the back. I turn her palm over, and my brows draw together.
No burns, but her skin is ravaged. Small cuts and blisters cover her entire palm.How did this happen? From washing dishes?
This woman is the weakest thing I have ever seen. She can’t even do the simplest things.
I squeeze more ointment onto the cotton and start tending to her wounds. It would be better to do this with my fingers, but I can’t bring myself to. Touching her through the gloves is fine; my body doesn’t recoil. Without them, though? I’m not sure.
She winces, “Avi, don’t.”
Why is she calling her own name?
She slurs, wincing as I continue. “No, Avi.”
I release her hand. She settles it back on her stomach, and the cream smears onto the robe. I press my lips together and take her hand again. The burn isn’t serious, but these cuts are. They need proper treatment.
My thoughts frustrate me again.Why do I care if she has cuts on her hands or burns? I shouldn’t care even if her whole body burned.
I clench my jaw. Another image I don’t like, and forabsolutely no reason.
Chapter 8
Elowen
The first thing I see after waking is my bandaged hand.
I stare at it.How did this happen? Is there something paranormal in this house?Because I don’t remember any breathing human who cares enough to have done this.
Bruno isn’t in the bed.Did he do this? Is Bruno a husky shifter?I snort.
Maybe Antonio did it. He’s the second-best option, and since Bruno isn’t a husky shifter, thatleaves only Antonio.
I stretch and climb down from the bed. I’ll thank Antonio later for this.
I look at my other hand and feet. My burns also look better. I sniff my hand. It feels like he applied some kind of cream on it.
I walk out of Bruno’s room and see him trotting toward me, fur wet, tongue lolling. And behind him—none other than the tyrant who owns this place. His thick brown jacket suggests he’s just returned from the cold outside. Bruno rubs against my leg, soaking my robe.
He took Bruno for a walk? In this freezing weather?But Bruno’s a husky—so that makes sense. And it also says something else: he cares about him.
“Wash him,” he orders, cold as ever, and turns toward his room.
