Page 38 of Devil May Lie

“Come on,” Madden insisted. “You aren’t going to be comfortable with me sleeping in your bed dirty, are you?”

“I don’t have mysophobia,” he stated, and that seemed to catch Madden’s attention, some of the playfulness taken over by curiosity as he watched Berga collect his things for the shower.

“Spit is okay, come is iffy—depending on your mood, and general germs aren’t a fear. So it’s just blood then? Blood makes you uncomfortable?”

“Blood doesn’t bother me at all,” Berga said. “I’m training to become the official Brumal medical head, and for a couple of months now, I’ve already been the Butcher. Blood comes with the job description.”

“It only bothers you if it’s on you,” Madden figured. “Why is that?”

Berga’s gaze dropped to the shoes the other man was still wearing, eyeing that one affronting speck of dried red on the toe. “Take those off.”

Instead of arguing, Madden got right to it, removing the shoes and even going so far as to stand and walk them to the door. He set them carefully out in the hall, out of sight, before returning. “Better?”

Not really.

That was another problem.

If they hadn’t been talking about this topic, he might not have even recalled the blood stain at all and that…was severely out of character.

“It doesn’t affect me if it’s on someone else.” Not entirely a lie. Berga didn’t care if other people got blood on them. It only really mattered if it was on him. “My idea of worth in regards to others goes beyond appearance.”

Madden lifted a dark brow. “Odd way of phrasing it. You’re saying you think people will judge you if you’ve got blood on you? I mean, sure, I can see some people being freaked out if they spotted you out on the streets covered in it, but otherwise…You said it yourself. Blood comes with our type of lifestyle.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Why did he even want to? Berga stepped toward the door to the attached bathroom without another word, done with this conversation as much as he was with the man who’d started it.

“Hurry back or I’ll be lonely!”

He slammed the door shut to cut off any other nonsense Madden might want to say, and flicked the lock for good measure. Then he just…stood there.

Berga couldn’t recall the last time he was this drained, and yet…He felt…He shifted on his feet and rolled his shoulders, testing his body out. He’d developed psychosis at a young age, shortly after losing the girl in the pink dress, and there hadn’t been a single occasion since where he hadn’t felt like absolute shit afterward. His muscles were usually sore and the damage done was typically tenfold—mostly because the episodes could last anywhere from a day to three.

Only, this one hadn’t. He’d lost himself for less than an hour. The skin on his chest was raw from all the rubbing he’d done, but he hadn’t even broken skin. There was no loathing of his own body, or needing to avoid his reflection in the mirror because of the scabbing and dried blood making him want to vomit.

Stepping over to the large mirror hanging over the sink, Berga tentatively trailed his fingers down the defined line between his abs. He was a little red, nothing more, it didn’t even hurt to the touch.

Had it been because that idiot cadet had stepped into his delusion and scattered the girl in the dress? It seemed unlikely, considering it wasn’t the first time he’d been caught outside experiencing an episode.

Then what?

The only explanation was Madden. He was the only new factor to the equation. Berga had heard him through the ringing in his ears and the panic. Why? What was so special about the Mad King that Berga’s subconscious was willing to listen, even in the midst of hysteria? No one had ever been able to pull him from that abyss before, not even Flix.

And Flix had known her. Had played with them in the yard and come over for family dinners before she’d—

There was a flash of pink just over his shoulder, and Berga sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t dare turn around, eyes locked on that spot in the corner by the toilet where the beginnings of pink tulle was starting to take shape.

Faster than he could blink, he twisted the lock and yanked the door open, the beginnings of that familiar anxiety creeping over him, causing him to break out in goosebumps.

Madden’s eyes widened from where he was now standing by the end table, flipping through one of Berga’s medical magazines.

“Get in here,” he hardly recognized his own voice. It was too deep, too desperate, and his hand tightened on the handle of the door, afraid he’d be rejected. Flix always told him he needed to be nicer to people if he expected them to do him favors. Had he been rude to Madden earlier? Would the Mad King refuse now?

Madden tossed the magazine carelessly onto the bed and headed toward him, tugging his shirt up over his head in the process. He dropped that with little care as well, then started on the button of his military-issue pants.

Which were sexy, now that Berga was thinking about it. That whole “man in uniform” thing kind of made sense for the first time ever.

He was naked by the time he reached him, and Madden pressed a gentle palm against Berga’s stomach, easing him backward into the room. He followed after, shutting the door behind him so they were sealed into the bathroom alone. But then he stopped as though waiting for Berga to make the next move.

Berga didn’t want that. If he was left to his own devices, the girl in pink would return and he’d—

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