Page 13 of Take

“Told you how it was going to be. Should’ve listened.” He carried me next door, stuck the key in the lock and then opened it. He slammed it shut with the heel of his foot, walked into the room and tossed me on the bed.

The mattress squeaked as I bounced on it a couple times when I landed. I quickly turned over and crawled to the opposite side of the bed, and scrambled to my feet.

“Not chasing you, Max.” It was the first time he’d used my name and I hesitated. “Sit your ass down.” His words were like rocks banging together and his stance was wide, ready to make a grab for me if I even tried for the door. “I’m going to clean that wound on your side then you’re going to heal my leg that you so kindly put a bullet in. After that, we’re both getting some shut eye.” He crossed his arms over his naked chest. “In this room. Together.”

I looked down at the orange and brown bedspread, hiding my anger behind my curtain of hair. He was really an asshole and normally I could escape from people, but I was being forced to deal with Jasper and any anger I’d kept locked away was bending the mental shield around me, ready to release all the rage I’d kept locked up tight since Drake.

He walked toward me, stopping inches away. Then to my surprise, he reached over and squeezed my waist. It was a gentle and reassuring gesture and so unlike Jasper. Our eyes stayed locked on one another for a few moments, before he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

I considered running next door. I still had the key curled in my hand, but like I’d learned a long time ago, sometimes it was easier not to fight. I had scars to prove it.

When he came out again, he had a wet cloth in his hand. He strode over to a leather satchel by the door, unzipped it and sifted through until he pulled out a plastic bottle. He strode toward me, chest still naked, the vivid lines of his muscles speckled in dried blood. God, he didn’t have a single scar on his lightly tanned skin—perfect. The complete opposite of me.

I stiffened, sitting up straighter as I placed my hands on my scarred thighs. Then I lifted my chin and stared straight ahead.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

I don’t care.

He crouched in front of me and I heard the rustle of his pants and his mild grunt. Shit, now I felt guilty shooting him and I never experienced that emotion. I had no reason to—until now.

Jesus, he was screwing me up.

The crackle of a seal breaking sounded and I looked at the bottle in his hand—whiskey. This was going to hurt like hell and maybe that was exactly what I needed to get my shit together.

He shrugged. “It’ll have to do until we get to my . . . friend’s place tomorrow.” I didn’t like the sound of that. And he hesitated at the word friend and I was guessing it was because Jasper didn’t have friends; he had business acquaintances.

“A Scar?” I hoped not. I’d been able to keep my abilities hidden for years, but I was careful with who I encountered. Meeting Waleron a number of months ago had been a mistake and then Jasper had sensed I was a Healer. All it took was for one Scar to get into my head and find out I could give life to Inks and then word would spread and I’d be a liability.

“No. She’s human.” He reached for the hem of my shirt—his shirt—and I scooted back. His hand gripped my hip and held me steady. “Yeah, I want to fuck you, but right now, it isn’t about that. So you need to suck it up and let me do this.”

“I can do it myself,” I shot back and grabbed for the bottle.

“No you can’t.” He snorted. “Ironic the Goddess gave the ability for Healers to heal everyone except for themselves. A real fuck up if you ask me.”

The pads of his fingers heated my skin through the material and there was nothing sexual about it, yet it was everything sexual. My pulse pounded in my throat and tingles like shooting stars burst through me everywhere. It was unrestrained and I hated it. I shoved his hand off me then abruptly pulled up the shirt.

It was supposed to be one fluid motion. It turned into several when I had to lift my butt to get the shirt out from under me; then it stuck to the wound because of the dried blood and when it finally peeled away, it went too high revealing my abdomen and ribcage.

My eyes locked on his, but he didn’t say anything, merely kept his steady gaze on me. It was almost better when he did say something because then at least I knew what he was thinking.

He lifted the whiskey bottle and the pungent smell drifted into the air and burned the small hairs in my nostrils. “You want to lie down for this?”

I shook my head.

He nodded then titled his hand and I watched the amber liquid spill from the bottle. The second it hit my flesh, the fiery pain sliced through my side. I squeezed my eyes shut, tensing, but remained still.

After a few seconds, I opened my eyes as the pain dissipated . . . until he started wiping the dried blood away from the torn flesh. He was gentle, the corner of the warm wet cloth rubbing lightly over my skin.

He set the bottle on the floor and then put his hand back on my hip, his fingers steady and splayed over my skin. I was surprised he never once looked anywhere but at my side and what he was doing, his brows drawn together in a deep furrow of concentration.

I was contemplating thanking him when he said, “Might have avoided this if you hadn’t shot me and we got out of there sooner. Try and remember you’re a Healer and act like one.”

Asshole full on.

Jasper leaned back on his heels, pulled out a knife from his boot then reached for me. I didn’t move. I was accustomed to knives on my flesh and if he had to cut away or debride flesh, then it had to be done. My fingers curled into the bedspread and I couldn’t stop the sharp inhale as he came closer with the knife.

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