Page 12 of Whispers of Fire

Fuckin’ sweet.

Despite not being in her presence yet, she already consumes my mind like a goddamn drug. My intention is simple: to ensure she's safe and then return to the club. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Steppin’ into her room, I find myself momentarily breathless, captivated by the sight of her body nestled into the mattress like an angel resting on her cloud. Her furrowed brows are frozen on her sweet face, and as I look at her, I take in the horror in front of me.

What the actual fuck?

Her hands are bleeding heavily, one of her nails is gone, and her delicate fingers look like they have been smashed with a strong object. The darkness doesn’t allow me to see as much as I want, but I notice light bruises on her jaw, her hair still sticking to her face like she had been…

…Drowned?

Fury spreads through my body like molten lava.

Who dares touch such a sweet girl?

Despite being cold-blooded when it comes to torturing my enemies, I fucking hate seeing her hurt, and I don’t know why. After losing my family, I thought I could never feel this again. Becoming vice-president of the club trained me to put my conscience away and embrace the darkness within me. There’s no other way if you want to survive in my world. But even the lost souls like mine have rules, and protecting women and children is one of them.

Removing my helmet and putting it slowly on the floor, I approach her bed and kneel next to her. Her parents must be responsible for this; otherwise, she wouldn’t be in her bed like it was a normal evening. And the fuckers are sleeping like babies downstairs. I bite my fist, fighting the urge to confront them myself and scare the fuck out of them.

Breathe. Fuckin’ breathe.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I never lose my shit, especially not for women.

It’s fuckin’ wrong, I shouldn’t even be here.

The walls around my chest are meant to protect me from getting hurt, and I’ve built them for a reason. I’ll take care of her wounds and go back to my life. She’ll never know it was me who took care of her.

Judging by the sound of her breathing, she’s completely out, so I shouldn't be bothered with her waking up.

The thing is, she made it clear she didn’t want me to touch her skin this morning. And as much as I’m dying to put my hands on her, I don’t fucking want her to think I took advantage of her being out.

How the fuck can I care for her if I can’t touch her?

Staring at her heart-shaped face and her full lips, I find an idea.

I’ll keep my black leather gloves on. This way, I’m not technically touching her.

That’s the best I can do.

Grabbing the disinfectant I brought with me, I check it to ensure it's painless before spraying it on her hands. The last thing I want is for her to wake up in shock from the burn of the alcohol. Applying it to her hands, I then take the bandages and mend her fingers carefully without moving her arms too much. I've learned to do it after each cage fight of Ares throughout the years.

She wiggles a bit, shaking her head until she rests it on the pillow, her beautiful face facing me. I'm done with her hands. There’s not much more I can do without waking her up.

Noticing her wet hair, I go out of the room and into her bathroom. It’s almost empty, just a shower and a spartan-looking sink, which I’m pretty sure isn’t usual for a young woman. But then again, nothing about her is usual. Besides the essential toothbrush and hairbrush, all I see is a bottle of vanilla soap. That’s where her scent comes from. I reach for it before stopping myself.

No, I'm not gonna steal it, she wouldn’t be able to use it after. I make a mental note to buy one for myself and put it in my bathroom. Perhaps it will help ease the desire I have to breathe in her neck since this morning.

You’re so fucked already.

I find towels under the sink and take one with me back into her room. Carefully lifting her head, I put the towel on her pillow, then hold her until she rests again on it. A surge rises in me to remove her clothes and put her in her pajamas, but even I know that would be crossing a line.

You think?

Actually, I'm aware I’m already bending standard social rules by being in her room right now. But I couldn’t give less of a fuck. Standing beside this angel, I take in her womanly curves and the way her chest rises at each inhale. I can’t help but pull the cover over her and tuck her in, knowing that, at least, she won’t be cold.

I look beside me at the camera I've hidden on her dresser, fucking glad I did it. Staying away isn’t gonna be easy but at least I will be able to watch her anytime I need to.

My phone vibrates, and I know Ares wants me to go back to handle O’brian. I sigh. For the first time in thirteen years, I’m struggling to leave a place to reach the club. My mind starts to churn with so many fucking questions, wondering if I should wake up her parents and slit their throats or if I should leave her a note that I was there.

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