Page 28 of Lamb

Wantingto return there was a novel sensation. Returning because of a person was even more so.

Those bright, wild green eyes glowered at me beneath long, dark lashes and drew me from my reflection. I waited patiently for whatever she might say, but instead, she clicked her tongue and squeezed her eyes closed once more. I waited longer.

Her fists tugged hard on the sheets, the material taut beneath my weight as she tried to wrap herself into a silk cocoon. The soft chatter of teeth filled the air, and a strong shiver radiated through the mattress.

Concern folded a frown between my brows. I peered through the dusty twilight, cataloging the shadows hugging the hollows beneath her eyes and the red flush lighting her pale cheeks. Her skin was clammy, and cold sweat beaded on the surface.

“Here.” I held out the glass, the scent of the spiced whiskey strong as the shallow breeze stirred its scent.

Her eyes shot open. They ignored my presence, focusing solely on the wash of dark golden liquid rippling in the glass. I took the opportunity to look at them, never having caught more than stolen glimpses before.

In thinner areas of scarring, her green eyes were more vibrant, like wild ivy that stubbornly grew and spread in even the darkest of corners. It made me yearn to see what bright shade they must have once been. In a time, perhaps, when she’d been younger, with the youth her trauma had stolen, with innocence, and joy, and a happy smile on her face from life’s simple pleasures, not hard-won through life’s toughest trials. Before she was scared. Before she was tortured.

Sensing my lingering gaze, her head jerked away, staring hard enough to burn holes into the stirring silk curtains. She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders, knucklespressing underneath her chin. “Stop smiling,” Ash grunted, shifting beneath her protection. “You’re taking way too much joy from torturing me like this.”

I pressed my fingers to my face, feeling the tight ridges of the smile tugging at my lips. I hadn’t even realized.

I jostled, feeling Ash’s feeble attempt to pull more covers from me as she adjusted her body. She pulled her legs into herself, keeping the gap between us as wide as possible as she maneuvered to an upright position.

I rose from the bed, freeing the material and allowing her to bunch it up around her slender one. It was an opportunity to come close as I dropped to my haunches beside her pillow, staring into the untrusting, weary eyes regarding me. I could smell the mix of her hair and her body tangled in the scent of my detergent and savored the aroma.

I offered up the glass once more.

It’d been a few days since we’d started this new routine, and Ash had yet to warm to me. Sometimes it felt like the temperature dropped every time I entered.

Ash reached for the glass with shaky hands, but her eyes remained on me, waiting for that split-second that I would seize payment.

I didn’t move.

I let Ash’s trembling hands cup around the glass, the liquid rippling in her grasp.

Securing the glass, relief dropped Ash’s defenses. Whiskey poured into her mouth as her sheet cocoon slipped from her shoulders, exposing the damp, pasty skin underneath. Her body shook with a mix of pleasure and desperation. I watched with fascination as her mind and body seemed to battle. Instead of downing it in one, she fought to slow herself, to savor it. It didn’t last.

In a few seconds, the couple of fingers of whiskey was gone. Ash’s tongue lapped the lip of the glass, trying to sap even a droplet more, to no avail.

The empty glass dropped to her lap, eyes dazed with relief and disappointment.

“Ash,” I murmured and watched her chin drop, eyes turning down to meet mine.

I kissed her. Her lips were soft, the quiver of her skin and the shaky breath brushing my tongue before she could even think to dodge.

Ash jerked back, her lips pressed into a thin white line, eyes bulging with a fiery rage.

“I wouldn’t call it torture,” I purred, tasting the sharp, sweet taste of the whiskey lingering on my lips. “Most people like this.”

“Like being licked by a dog,” Ash snarled, punctuating it with the slam of the empty glass on the nightstand. She swung the sheet high up over her shoulder and threw herself back down onto the bed, back toward me.

I couldn’t resist the challenge.

I wasn’t taller than most of my brothers, but I was not short by any measure. Rising to my feet and leaning down over the bed, I propped one hand on the far side, and she straightened like a rod. Her trembling body tensed as I leaned my weight down, trailing my other hand across the sheets, moving inch by inch closer to her. Her fists tightened beneath her chin, knuckles turning white with force.

“I’ll be gone for a few hours,” I whispered, knowing my breath would warm her cold skin. I slipped my hand beneath the pillow, her head undisturbed by my intrusion. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget about you.” I lingered a moment longer, waiting for her body to unwind. When it didn’t, I pushed my weight back up with ease.

I waited for the soft escape of her breath before I revealed what I had in my other hand. “Now, if you’d please?” I waved the small, broken clock at her, catching her eyes, and extended my other, a waiting open palm. Both clock hands were missing, and its place on the wall was scuffed from where it had been pulled down.

Silence was my answer. Just what I had hoped for.

“If you wish to be patted down, I will oblige.”

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