Page 45 of Hell’s Weapon

I try to ignore it but then the door opens and I’m springing out of bed ready to deliver a knockout punch to whoever is entering. I almost reach for my knife.

It’s a good job that I take a second to assess who it is because Wyatt comes back into the room, laden with two trays of food and drinks.

“How did you get in here?” I hiss.

“Sorry, I took Milo’s wristband in case you were still asleep when I got back. I tried knocking and got no answer, so assumed you were.”

“I was.” I level a disgruntled glare at him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought that the serving time for breakfast was nearly over and both of you would be hungry when you eventually woke up.”

As he brings the trays into the room I managed to spy what he’s collected. He’s managed to get both our usual breakfast foods, in ample supply, as well as a large mug of coffee each and some juice. He sets them down on an empty shelf of the open wardrobe.

“Did you want yours now?” he asks.

“No, I’m going back to bed.” I drop back onto my mattress. “Thank you though,” I add begrudgingly. Once again, Wyatt is being incredibly sweet and thoughtful.

Here I was hoping that some sleep would allow me to stop feeling this weird tugging in my chest when it comes to these humans.

Throwing an arm over my eyes, I shuffle down the bed so I’m laying flat. I expect to hear the door as Wyatt leaves but no sound meets my ears.

“Are you still just standing there?” I ask when the overbearing feeling of his eyes on me gets too much.

“I never asked about this.” Wyatt’s voice makes me startle as it comes from just above me rather than from over by the door. Fingers run gently up the length of the dagger tattoo on my thigh.

Jumping sidewards and moving my arm, I open my eyes to see Wyatt checking out the ink. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, it has to mean something. I can’t believe a girl like you would mark her body with just any old design. I noticed it before but didn’t stop to truly take in just how beautifully it’s done.”

“It’s an inked version of my favourite dagger.” I consider moving my hand to the lines and using the magic that exists within them to pull the knife free from my skin, just so I can stab Wyatt with it. His fingers are still tracing the edges and it’s irritating me right to my core. I screw my eyes closed again instead, trying to ignore his touch on my flesh.

“And the flowers?” he asks, brushing the garland of roses and belladonna that make up the garter that holsters the blade. I’m powerless to stop the goosebumps erupting across my skin.

“The roses symbolise death and the belladonna is for danger,” I tell him.

“Death and danger, is that how you see yourself?” Wyatt continues stroking my leg, although his fingers are covering much more than just the dark ink now. I’ll stop him in a second.

“Precisely,” I answer his question. “I am an assassin after all.”

“And you used flowers to represent that because?” His fingers reach my knee and change direction, heading back up my thigh but with a different trajectory, now tracing up the inner side.

“What are you doing?” I demand as my hand slams down on top of his, halting its exploration.

“You seemed to be enjoying it, I thought it might help you relax.”

“I’ll be fine without you.”

“But you’ll sleep better if you let me release some of the tension that’s clearly weighing on you.”

I don’t have to ask to know how he wants to achieve that as his fingers continue to draw lazy circles on my inner thigh, even with my hand on top of his.

“I thought you didn’t do repeats,” I remind him, and let's face it, myself too.

“I can make exceptions.” His breath ghosts over my thigh now, before his lips brush the bit where the dagger tip is inked. I almost moan as his tongue flicks out to suck on the skin, a reminder of how fucking talented his mouth is in other places.

Moving my hand off his and onto my other thigh, I give in to the embers of heat growing deep in my core at Wyatt’s touch. He immediately starts tracing lines up my leg again, using his fingers to gently open my legs.

It’s stupid for me to let this happen. He was an excuse the other night, a means to an end. In more ways than one, I guess, because it had been good to get fucked again after several weeks of no action. But I have no such excuse right now.