Page 40 of Shattered Vows

I thank him for making conversation in an effort to distract me even though his question comes out sounding forced. “I guess not, though I didn’t really know that until now.”

When I open my eyes, he gives me a questioning look.

“I didn’t have the usual childhood experiences of playing outside and skinning my knees and stuff.” I shrug, feeling inadequate somehow after admitting it. “It’s not like I’ve never scratched myself or anything, but I’ve never seen that much blood before.”

He nods and tosses the washcloth in the sink, then rips open a small package. “I need to disinfect the wound to make sure it doesn’t get infected. This will sting.” He holds the wipe up near my head and the strong scent of alcohol wafts up my nose. “Ready?”

He meets my gaze, and I nod. Gently, he brings the wipe to the cut on my head. I wince when it touches my open wound, and the stinging sensation feels like fire on my skin.

“Just another second. There, done.” He turns and tosses the wipe in the garbage. “Some ointment and a Band-Aid, and you should be good in a few days.”

“I don’t need stitches?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s a small cut. It’s already clotting.” Kol applies the antiseptic cream, then puts a small Band-Aid on my forehead and steps back. “Done.”

“Thank you for fixing me up.”

Our gazes lock and hold, and he swallows hard, stepping closer. “You need to be more careful.”

I watch his lips move, and all I can think about is how I want them on me. “As long as the lights stay on, I should be good.”

I inch forward on the counter, close enough that our breaths mingle, imploring him with my eyes to kiss me. His breathing picks up, and his gaze diverts to my lips, and my belly tugs.

Disappointment rolls over me like a wave when Kol steps back and clears his throat. Here we go again.

“You probably want to get back to your room and change.” He motions to my shirt and the blood there.

“Right.” I hop down off the counter, putting on my best smile. “Thanks for coming to my aid and fixing me up.”

He nods and rubs the palm of his hand over his cropped hair.

The shower turns on before I’ve even left the room, and my disappointment doubles that he didn’t ask me to join him.

Chapter

Nineteen

KOL

Isqueeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose, willing the image of Rapsody covered in blood to leave my brain. It’s been on repeat for days now, ever since I found her in the conservatory, blood dripping down her face onto her shirt.

I’ve seen a lot of shit. Enough shit that a small cut on a head shouldn’t have been so alarming, but the image is haunting me. Which is why I’ve been avoiding her. Which is fucking stupid since I’m trying to woo her into loving me again. Kind of impossible to do when I’m keeping my distance.

If I’m really honest with myself, it’s also because of what happened at the pond and how much it affected me. Watching Rapsody fall apart courtesy of my fingers, knowing I was the one responsible and that no one else had ever come before me—fuck, that was enough to almost have me busting a nut in my shorts.

Sweet, innocent Rapsody has a naughty side, and now that I’ve discovered it, it’s impossible to ignore. Every time she’s looked at me since our encounter, it’s there on her face—she’s craving more. She’s hungry for me to show her all the ways I can bring her pleasure—which should be fine, it’s part of the plan.

What is not part of the plan is me relishing the opportunity. Me being thirsty as well.

I blow out a breath and shut the laptop on my desk, slumping back in my chair with a sigh. I need to decide what I’m doing, and whether this plan is feasible anymore.

Can I make Rapsody love me without falling for her myself? Do I even want to still?

I think back to where this all started… me waiting on the steps of city hall, taking in every pedestrian on the street, sure that she was around the corner, and it would be like the parting of the sea for Moses. The woman I knew could save me from myself would be there to commit her life to me and mine to her, and it didn’t matter what had happened in the past, what I had done. If someone like Rapsody could love me, then I must be worth loving.

But the minutes ticked by, first one, then five, then fifteen. By the time an hour had passed, my stomach was on the concrete, and my heart had gone eight rounds against the heavyweight champion in the ring. It was a beat-up, pulpy mess. Devastation is too weak a word to describe how I felt when I knew that Rapsody didn’t want to marry me anymore.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, I guess. Everyone who has supposedly loved me has left, one way or another.

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