Page 79 of Blood Lust

Our eyes focus on Oz, clutching us like we would float away without his touch. Our anchor, our lifeline. We both love him deeply. I can feel the truth of it, of her. I feel the longing to become one with me and finally be whole.

Completion.

In my mind’s eye, I see her. It is my face but sharper, etched with a cruelty that had once scared me. That cruelty isn’t for me, my coven, or humans… it fuels the ferocity with which I will protect what is mine. It is white hot and indestructible. It is the absolute confidence of my strength.

And it is beautiful.

She is beautiful.

Her face swims closer to me, blurring at the edges as we grow closer. My mind grows fuzzy, and it feels like something is crawling inside me. Slowly the edges of the puzzle fit together and settle into one coherent picture of myself.

Peace.

Unity.

Completion.

Gently swaying in Oz’s arms as he carries me inside, I stir. I didn’t even realize that I had fallen asleep. My head rests against his shoulder as he silently maneuvers us into our room and bathroom. Sitting me down on the tub’s edge, he steadies me, making sure that I won’t keel over the second his arms leave me.

I sway but remain steady.

We both frown at the blood covering the entire front of my body.

My clothes look like they’ve soaked up about six different people’s blood. Thinking about it, that is probably a pretty close measurement.

Water spray sounds behind me as Oz twists the handle. He is so big, towering over me like a great protector. “Arms up,” his voice is soft, smooth and caring.

I obey and let him undress me. There is nothing sexual about his touch as he examines me—nothing resembling lust is in his eyes as he takes me in. The blood of our enemies, having soaked through my clothes, stains my skin. Oz guides me into the shower, removing his clothes and joining me.

Rough hands, calloused from centuries of working with them, glide over my skin. His touch sends electric pulses of sensation down my back. He helps the water rinse the dried blood from my skin, cleansing me of what happened. He scrubs my back, arms, shoulders, breasts, and stomach using my favorite soap. He kneels before me and gently washes my legs, his hands stopping just before the height of my thighs. How I want him to keep touching me.

Satisfied, he turns his attention to my hair. The water has rinsed out all the dried rust-colored flakes, so he lathers my hair and massages my scalp. He works his fingers through my hair, preventing any tangles from forming. It feels fucking incredible.

He isn’t nearly as filthy as I had been. The smell of gunpowder is more potent than anything else. Still, I run the soap over his form, allowing my fingers to delight in the sensation of his packed muscles and the veins roping in his arms. Tracing the hard outlines of his chest, his abs. I wash every part of him with as much tenderness as he’s shown me, and despite wanting to turn this into more, I focus solely on our bathing.

I love his hair.

Working shampoo through it is challenging with our height difference, but he helps. Caging me with his arms, and bracing against the shower wall, Oz bends his neck forward, providing the access I need. Once thoroughly rinsed, I wrap my arms loosely around his waist, enjoying the feeling of the scalding hot water pounding into us.

Lips lower to my ear, and he whispers, “Wren, are you okay, love?”

Stupid question.

Of course, I’m not okay.

I have been kidnapped, hurt, threatened, witness to the murder of our coven leader, tortured…

Despite all of that, I am home, and I am safe. I have the love of my life is at my side and my mind is whole for the first time in weeks. I am doing far better than I have any right to be.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, burying my face in his chest.

Turning off the water, Oz grabs me by my hand and helps me from the tub. He wraps me in towels and helps me dry my hair. I submit to him and let him take control. I let him take care of me like he wants.

I love the way he tends to my needs. Each action is filled with love and tenderness that show I am his and always will be. I stare into his eyes, thinking about how everyone who had played a role in this is dead, how our family came together and put an end to those who would harm us. I think about how I relied on the darkest parts of me to keep myself safe, and how it led to me finally accepting myself for who I am.

Can he tell?

Does he know?

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