Page 8 of Grave Curse

“I listened, and what I heard would make any man stand up and take notice, if you get my drift. A knockout woman like you needs to be more careful with her words when she’s around big, bad men like me.”

I didn’t move, not because of the vague threat sliding through his tone, but because saying anything remotely sexual was something Tyr never did. Not to me, anyway. And knockout? Not since we were little had Tyr even hinted that he thought I was pretty, much less aknockout. We didn’t have that kind of relationship. This was brand-new territory, and I had no idea how we’d gotten here or what sort of dangers were lurking just beneath the surface.

“I’m careful enough.” I almost winced at the jarring loudness of my voice. Like an idiot I’d let the silence roll for too long, and now everything was stupid and awkward. “You’re the only man who has any complaints. Then again, that’s pretty much all I expect out of you.”

“When it comes to me, you’d be wise to expect the unexpected. Sit.” He semi-pushed me onto the lowered toilet seat, and I once again closed my eyes before I managed to accidentally catch sight of the throbbing, painful mess that was my injured hand. “So I’m the only man, huh? I guess that means all the other men in your life are fine with what you tell them to do with your hands.”

I listened to him dig around in the first-aid kit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Misty mentioned you’re dating someone new.”

Thanks a lot, Misty. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that. Tell me about it.”

“Nothing to tell. We’re not dating as indating. We went on a date last Friday. As in, one singular date. I don’t know if there’s going to be another, or if anything’s going to come of it.”

“Who is he?”

Better for me to tell him than to have Misty—my sweet, romantic friend who wanted everyone to be in love like she was with her man Lasso—mess everything up. “He’s the owner and sole tattooist of that little tattoo parlor that moved in next door to Vixen’s Den. He came over and introduced himself, and before I knew it he asked me out.”

Tyr sprayed something on my hand, and the screaming pain lessened as if by magic. “What’s his name?”

“Draco, but whatever you do, don’t call him Malfoy. I did that when we first met as a joke.” I grimaced. “It didn’t go well.”

“Sounds like the asshole needs to find himself a sense of humor.”

That’s what I’d thought, too. “I’m sure he’s heard the joke a thousand times before, so he’s probably sick of it.” I flinched when he wiped something over the open wound. “Sorry.”

He made a dismissive sound. “How serious did it get during your date withMalfoy?”

Good grief, I had to make sure he never crossed paths with Draco. “That’s none of your business, but generally speaking I’m not an easy-lay. And the name is Draco. Say it with me—Dray-Co.”

“Does Malfoy know you don’t like needles? Seems like this is something a tattooist should know about you.”

Like that, my world went dark. “The subject never came up.”

“Yeah? You mean Malfoy hasn’t once mentioned anything about putting his needle to all that flawless pale skin of yours? I’ll bet he has,” he went on when I didn’t say anything. “I’ll bet that dumbass can’t stop from running his stupid mouth about all that magnificent porcelain flesh he thinks he has a right to fuck up with his mark. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Um.” Oh, wow. Tyr thought my skin was magnificent. Flawless. But since he was my enemy, I had no idea what to do with that. “You… I…”

“Yeah? Say whatever’s on your mind, Snap. Let me in.”

“How much longer is this going to take?” I asked instead, because a sweet Tyr was a Tyr I couldn’t freaking handle. Instead I focused on how bang-on target his statement was. Draco had talked virtually nonstop about seeing me as a “pristine canvas” from the moment we met, and though we’d only been on one date, his spiel was already getting kind of old. With a sigh I glanced down at my hand to see what progress had been made, and instantly regretted it.

Oh…ick.

An ugly C-shaped gash framing the meaty part of my hand below my thumb gaped like a no-lipped mouth, with blood still trickling from its ragged edges. I clamped my good hand over my mouth, partly because I didn’t want to make another sound that signified weakness and pain, partly because I feared I was about to throw up.

“Idiot. I told you not to look.” My vision was suddenly filled with Tyr, his eyes fierce as he framed my face in his hands so I had no choice but to look at him. “Listen to me, baby girl. You’re okay. You’re okay, because I’m going to make it okay, understand? You’re fine, Snap. You’re doing just fine.”

The rock-solid reality around me jolted, and for one harrowing and utterly disorienting moment I was in another place, another time. For a horrifying second all I could see wasmy mother’s prone form sprawled on my narrow twin bed, foam drying on her blue lips, a needle still stuck in her arm and a note in her hand. Tyr’s face had suddenly filled my vision then too, and he told me over and over again that I was going to be okay, because he was going to make it okay. He couldn’t, though, because Audrey was already dead, killed by the poison Hades had brought into her life so he could control her completely.

“Thank you, Tyr.” The words came out from behind my hand, which I then forced to my lap when I realized how muffled I sounded. Reality snapped back into place, and I came back to the present with a shudder. “I never said that to you when… we found Audrey. At least I don’t think I did. So thank you. And I told you, I’m fine.”

“Damn right you are.” He stayed crouched before me a few more seconds—no doubt to see if I was going to faint—before he straightened to his full height. “I’ve already sprayed your cut with some numbing stuff, but I’m not going to lie. When I glue the edges back together, it’s going to sting like a sonofabitch.”

“Pain doesn’t bother me.” Needles did. Blood did. Pain was no big deal, because I’d learned the hard way there was an eventual end to it. “Just do what you have to do already.”

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