Page 63 of Reaper’s Wrath

“I am, and so is the New England cold. I thought you might like something warm.” I hand over the mug.

Isa beams. “Oh, hot chocolate?”

I nod. “And not the instant kind.”

“I love hot chocolate.” She takes a careful sip.

“I know.” I know every fucking thing about you. Everything that matters.

She peers shyly at me through her lashes as she takes another sip. The embodiment of compassion and gratitude, Isa is comprised of everything good about this world. I would give my life for her without hesitation. If I could unravel the fabric of my being to weave us a new life together, I would do it in a heartbeat.

“How was the city?” she asks as I hang up my coat and settle in.

“Productive. Cold. I hear you had a dinner guest.”

“More like you had a guest. I just happened to be here.”

How does she always manage to put me in my place in a way that has me laughing rather than fuming?

I exit the closet in my boxer briefs, noting the delightful way her thirsty gaze drinks in the sight of me. Her hot cocoa seemingly forgotten, her hands slowly lower as her gaze traces the contours of my body.

I can’t contain my satisfied smirk as I cross the room to her and place a kiss on the crown of her head. “Have I ever told you how much I love that smart mouth of yours?” I ask in a seductive rumble.

She lifts her gaze to mine and bites at her bottom lip before slowly shaking her head.

“Well, I do, and one of these days soon, you’re going to show me how talented it can be.” With that said, I head to the bathroom for a shower. A cold one because fuck do I need it. I want that woman so damn bad my dick is threatening mutiny.

By the time I finish, Isa is passed out cold, her mug empty on the nightstand.

Perfect.

I text Cruz to come to the room and put on some joggers while I wait for him. I’m not one for tattoos, but the rest of the guys are constantly inking themselves. Cruz is a gifted artist who travels with a tattoo gun. I can understand why. He makes good money off the other guys.

“Hey, Cap. You needed me?” he asks when he enters the room, cringing when he sees Isa asleep. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“You aren’t going to wake her.” I put enough sedative in that drink to keep her sleeping through a marching band passing through the room. I know it’s a shitty thing to do. And while I would never bypass her consent on a sexual level, this feels different. It feels essential—something to bind us together in the absence of our past relationship. I know if she remembered, she’d gladly wear my mark.

Cruz performs an exaggerated nod of dawning understanding. “Gotcha. What am I doing?”

I take out my karambit blade and hold it up. “I want this on the back of her neck. Not huge. Like an inch and a half in diameter. Artful. Precise.”

“I got you.” He nods and sets down his equipment, then pulls on rubber gloves to get started.

CHAPTER 33

ISA

I rouse three times before I can finally convince myself to get out of bed. The sun is already well over the horizon, but I was so dang tired. Even now, I’m dragging as I brush my teeth and get the day started. I could be coming down with something. That would explain the headache I’m nursing, though I’m not sure why the skin on my neck is sore.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say I got sunburn and had put aloe on the back of my neck—it’s tender, and I swear there’s a sticky residue. It’s strange. I haven’t even been out in the sun.

I haven’t seen any hand mirrors in the drawers that I could use to see my neck, but I look again to be sure. Nope. I try to twist and turn to see the area, but to no avail.

Oh well.

Once I get some breakfast and move around, I should feel more like myself.

As I leave the bathroom, I see the mug from last night and smile. It was sweet of Elio to bring me hot chocolate, and especially sweet that he remembered how much I like it. Of course, hot chocolate is a safe bet for most ladies—it’s chocolate, after all. We tend to be fans.