Page 24 of Knife Volume 2

Chapter 10

Tuesday had thought the scene was over before and had been disappointed, but now, when he rolled her over, she knew it was over, and both the human and the wolf were at peace with it.

He released her arms slowly, working the knots with careful hands while she lay face-down and concentrated on breathing. Every joint in her body hurt, every muscle, every nerve ending, and she was already thinking about the sweet relief changing to her wolf would bring. Standing on four undamaged legs with a spine that didn’t hate her would be pure bliss.

“I’d like you to hold off until tomorrow to shift.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, and yet, her voice said, “Okay,” without giving her a chance to argue.

Apparently, she was incapable of denying him anything in this moment. She was certain that would change once they were outside of a scene, but for now, his words were her law, even when articulated as a request.

He rolled her gently onto her back and looked at her face for a long moment before telling her, “I love you doesn’t say enough, but it’s the best I can come up with right now.”

And then he was gone, before she could respond.

He returned with an insulated bag she hadn’t noticed, put it on the table beside the bed along with two bowls and spoons, then returned to lift her and carry her to bed, leaning her against the wedge, which she decided she no longer hated.

The mouth-watering smell hit her as soon as he opened the container — caramelized onions, rich beef broth, and good wine. Not the shit people call cooking wine.

French onion soup. The ultimate comfort soup.

He poured a bowl and handed it to her, and she set the spoon aside, lifted the bowl to her mouth, and then her arms decided they might not be able to manage what she intended.

He saw it happen and supported the bowl for her, so she only had to tip it up to her mouth to drink it straight from the bowl — and she drank nearly the entire bowl before she came up for air.

He put more into it and then brought it back to her lips.

She finished the next bowl slower, actually tasting the sweetness of the onions, the way the flavors worked together.

She lowered the empty bowl to her lap and met his gaze. “The soup said more than words ever could. I love you, too.”

He took the bowl from her hands, and she said the part she didn’t want to have to deal with, but there was no way to avoid it.

“I need to use the bathroom, and I’m not sure my knees and hips will be able to manage it.”

“I know they can’t,” he told her, and he lifted her into his arms, walked her into the bathroom, and settled her on the toilet with more gentleness than she’d have thought those hands capable of after the day they’d had.

And then he stood there.

She looked at him.

He looked back.

“You could wait outside,” she said.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

She peed, and it burned so savagely she had to hold her breath to keep from screaming. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and one managed to spill over.

He watched her face through all of it, but she stared at the wall in front of her and tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

But when he offered her baby wipes so she wouldn’t have to use rough, dry toilet paper, she had to thank him. It was thoughtful, and that deserved acknowledgment, even if it was hard.

He carried her back to bed and looked her over carefully, checking each place he’d spent the day destroying with the same methodical care he’d used to completely wreck it. He applied salve to her asshole and clit with a gentleness so at odds with the day it made her throat ache and tears threaten once again.

Then he turned the lights out, crawled into bed, and pulled her against him. His hand moved over her in slow, unhurried strokes until the world faded around her and sleep took her under despite every ache and pain still screaming and throbbing, bodywide.

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