Page 86 of Heimlock

I almost laugh because my apartment is tiny, but I point at the six-foot-long hallway. “First and only door on the left. My bedroom is the other door.”

Trinte’s mouth quirks. “If I open either door, will I be decapitated?”

My fists, clenched so tight they’re numb, relax. With a soft laugh, I shake my head. “No, you get to keep your head for now.”

With a crooked grin, he says, “Good. I’m rather attached to it.”

I roll my eyes at the lame joke. He looks me over one more time before walking into the bathroom, pausing for a moment when opening the door. Casting me a playful grin, he steps inside. The shower turns on. Inwardly, I cringe, knowing he’s discovered there’s no shower curtain.

When he steps out, drops of water darken his shirt. “You know they make clear shower curtains, right?”

That’s all he has to say about it? The new information is intriguing, though. “They do?”

He dips his chin, motioning me over. When I’m close enough, he frowns, examining my outfit. “I don’t know how to help you out of this without destroying it.” His blue eye meets my gaze. “I also don’t know how to help you without you being naked.”

My lower lip wobbles. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”

He huffs out a laugh. “I will not be engaging with that question right now. But you’ll let me know if you get uncomfortable at all, okay? The second you don’t want help; the second you feel unsafe, you have to tell me, okay?”

I nod, but he shakes his head. “I need you to say it, Kyrielle.”

“I promise to tell you,” I whisper, my heart picking up to an unbearable speed, increasing the throbbing of my shoulder and wing.

“Okay.” He gives my costume a critical examination. “I’m going to have to cut around the wing attachment area. I’ll cut down the side so it’s easier to repair later. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good.”

Lengthening one of his claws, he carefully cuts away the costume. He’s so in-tune with me that when I let out a microscopic gasp of pain, he stops. Even a wince has him pause. Before the entire costume falls away, he grabs a towel from the bathroom and gently presses it against my chest. The gesture chips away at the deadness in my heart.

“You can use this to cover up,” he murmurs.

Except that holding the towel with one exhausted hand is futile. Trinte removes the costume with delicate precision, placing it on the floor next to the cast iron. My skin pebbles from the cold air. Most men would be looking at my naked body right now, but Trinte doesn’t.

His focus leaves my face to look at my arm and wing.

“Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you washed off.”

The shower is steaming hot; the mirror’s fogged completely. Trinte is so big, he practically fills the space with his bulk. He holds out a hand for me to steady myself as I step into the shower. When he sits on the toilet, we’re almost eye-level.

“How would you like to do this?” he asks quietly, watching my face.

“I-I … I don’t know,” I admit. My cheeks burn and despair blooms in my chest. This is so humiliating. No one should have to take care of me like this. No one has taken care of me like this.

“If you let me help,” he says softly, “I can promise you with every fiber of my being that I won’t be inappropriate.”

“I know,” I murmur, tears shimmering in my eyes. Water pours over my shoulders and it feels so good, but this fear thrashing through me is almost paralyzing. “I do trust you, Trinte.”

“Then let me help.”

Exhaling a shuddering breath, I say, “Okay.”

34

My hands shake as I reach for the soap and washcloth. Anxiety curdles my gut, feeling her watching me as I keep my movements slow and clear. I might as well be naked with her for how exposed I feel.

I’m frightened of hurting her like I’ve been hurt.

Squirting soap on the washcloth, I say, “I’m going to wash your right arm first, okay? Get it over with.”