Page 12 of The Guardian (Dark-Hunter 20)
Even worse than the vicious, jagged scars were the deep fresh gashes and welts left by a barbed whip. That must be what had caused him to collapse. She sucked her breath in sharply. Someone had torn him up good and by the looks of it, they'd enjoyed it. She saw the defensive wounds on his forearms and biceps where he'd tried to keep the lashes from hitting other parts of his body and had failed.
Obviously the demon wasn't at the top of the food chain here. Which begged the question of who would have done this to him.
Noir? Azura?
And why?
What had he done to make them want to hurt him so viciously?
With no answers, she stripped him down to the long black shorts he wore beneath his armor and padding. They reminded her of bicycle shorts and they hugged his lean hips and muscular thighs.
Lydia tried to keep her gaze from the bulge there that told her his muscles weren't the only part of him that was huge. The gods had definitely been kind to him in that area.
Stop it.
But it was so difficult not to stare. He had the kind of body that a woman didn't see every day. The kind that you wanted to drape yourself over and just feel the warm hardness of it against your own skin. And while he was most likely evil to his core, there was no denying the fact that he was exquisitely formed.
No, he was so lickably delicious that she could almost understand why he'd been bitten into. But the other marks ...
Those she didn't understand at all.
She returned her attention to his head, where blood seeped from a nasty gash just above his left ear. He was still unconscious.
And bleeding all over. She couldn't even begin to catalogue the list of injuries.
Her gaze dropped to his arm where she'd stabbed him. He had so many wounds there, she wasn't sure which one was hers. That thought nauseated her. No wonder he hadn't reacted to it. She'd most likely stabbed him in a bruise.
Or another wound.
And though she didn't exactly like or trust anyone, she didn't want to hurt them either. Not even him. It pained her that she'd added to his damage and she hated herself for that weakness.
She shouldn't care about his pain in the least. He'd certainly taken no mercy on Solin. So why then did she ache to see him so ravaged?
Because I'm not a soulless demon like him. She found no joy or humanity in abuse or meanness.
Her stomach churning in sympathy, she went to the bathroom to run a basin of warm water so that she could clean and bandage his injuries.
The bandages she had to tear out of his bedsheets.
It took some time, but she very carefully cleaned and wrapped each wound. Once she was finished with his body, she dumped the water, cleaned the basin, and then ran more so that she could tend to his face and head.
As she washed the harsh makeup from his features, she slowly uncovered the truth of her "demon."
He was beautiful. Absolutely stunning.
There was no other word for it. He would have been as pretty as a woman but for the rugged cut of his masculine jaw and the sharpness of his cheekbones, both of which were dusted by a day's growth of auburn whiskers. No wonder he wore the makeup. It would be hard to terrify the demons of this place looking like he did, even as tall and ripped as he was.
Not to mention, she was pretty sure he used it to conceal the bruises on his forehead, cheeks, and jaw.
Before she realized what she was doing, she ran her finger over his soft lips, remembering how good they'd tasted until ... She winced as she saw the mark where she'd bitten him, too.
Obviously, the last thing he'd needed was more pain. And she'd stupidly thought he was joking when he said that he hadn't had his lip busted open today.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, wondering if he'd ever had a moment of happiness in his entire life. By the condition of his body, she'd say no.
How long had he lived in this hell realm?
One minute would be too long.
Her throat tight, she washed the blood from his hair. Hair that drew up into perfectly tight auburn spiral curls the minute she wet it.
So it wasn't straight after all. Those curls were incredibly soft and boyishly charming, like you would see on a collectible doll. Who would have thought?
Now that she had him bare and clean, the only thing scary about him was how flawlessly handsome he was. How inviting. It was almost impossible not to stare at him.
He's still the one who tortured Solin ... the one who would have killed him had you not stopped him.
True. His looks didn't change the cruelty of his actions. No matter what, he was her enemy. And he would always remain so.
If you were smart, you'd stab him through the heart and kill him while you can.
Her dinner knife was only a few feet away.
And what if I did? He'd told her that he couldn't be killed. She had no reason to assume he'd been lying. His beating and scars, and the fact that he still breathed, told her he'd been honest about that.
Plus, even if she did kill him, she'd continue to be trapped here. That wouldn't change. Without him, she had no way to leave and no way to communicate with anyone.
He was her only hope for eventual release.
If only she could get a message to someone on the outside. But the more she tried, the more trapped she felt. What am I going to do?
