Page 38 of Bishop

I know what’s best for you, Abri. I know what my daughter needs. And protection from your own mistakes is the gift I’ve given you.

8

BISHOP

Her breaths are manic.

“Don’t pass out on me.” I hold her upright against the glass shower wall and shuck my jacket, but her eyes start to roll.

Fuck. I haul her into the shower, not having time to ditch the rest of my clothes, and lead her backward under the heavy spray. The water hits her head in a rough onslaught, cascading over her hair and straight through her blazer.

She gasps, her eyes widening to saucers, her lips sputtering.

She claws at me, slicing at my face with flailing hands and scratching fingers.

“I’ve got you.” I wrench her arms down to her sides and smother her to my chest as the cold water peppers my cheeks and soaks my clothes.

“Stop,” she wails. “Let me go.”

“This will help.” I back her farther into the spray. “Just breathe.”

She screams, her fight renewed, her strength enviable. But unlike last night when she planted my ass on the floor, I’m in control.

I lock my arms around her until she can barely move, the deluge hitting her face.

“The panic will subside.” I close my eyes to the torrent. “Just breathe.”

Water sinks into every inch of me while her hips twist, her shoulders banging into mine. Over and over she fights. Squeals. Wiggles. But second by agonizing second, her ferocity weakens.

The shouts and screams lose their venom. The jolt and hit of her shoulders no longer pack a punch.

I don’t quit holding her as she shivers, her trembling body like breakable glass with the rapid rise and fall of her chest against mine.

“It’s cold.” Her teeth chatter.

It’s fucking freezing. My balls are already hibernating in my abs. But I don’t speak my agreement. Instead I keep holding her, tight, not deviating the strength of my grip.

It takes a minute for her to stop battling for freedom. Then another for her inhales to lose the manic edge as they saw from her lips.

“That’s it.” I open my eyes and chance releasing one arm to loosen the scarf around her neck. She doesn’t fight me this time. Doesn’t even move apart from the unrelenting tremble.

“You’re doing good.” I pull back, meeting her blank gaze under the waterfall, her mascara weeping down her cheeks.

She seems distant, her thoughts a million miles away.

She curls her arms in close, huddling them between our chests. “Please stop.”

That’s all there is. Two words. One heartfelt plea from a hardened witch.

“Just a few more seconds.” I wipe the hair from her cheeks and pivot her to the left so the water quits pummeling her face. My shoes slush with the movement, every inch of my skin sodden with soaked clothes. But her breathing strengthens. Steadies. And the panic in her eyes fades, now replaced with exhaustion. “Feel better?”

She looks away. “Just cold.”

“Do you think you’re ready for warm water?”

She nods. “Please.”

There’s that word again, the delicate cadence almost making me regret the manhandling.

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