Page 447 of Rage

Clearing my throat, I start cleaning the blood around her collarbone.

“So. Did you win?” I ask, voice tight. I keep my fingers from touching her skin. If I do, I won’t be able to stop.

A simple touch, and I’d be a goner—if I wasn’t already.

I’m here to heal her, that’s all, I remind myself. Anything more wouldn’t be fair, not in her current condition.

“Win what?” She’s looking over my shoulder, avoiding my eyes.

“The fight.” There’s a lot of blood.

I love how it paints her skin, makes her seem dangerous and forbidden, the bright red against the pale white of her skin, like a blemished rose in the snow. It’s beautiful.

She’sbeautiful.

It’s been a long time since Maeve has only been my rival. A very long time.

She shoots me a glare. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

I chuckle darkly. “A good standard to judge winning by, Princess.” I move her to the side, cleaning her back. It’s sliced to hell. “Someone use a knife?”

Her body stills just long enough for me to look back at her.

She tries to play it off, but her foot taps. A sure sign she’s uncomfortable. She’s done it since we were kids.

“Yes.”

“Did you disarm them?”

She glares. “Don’t patronize me.”

The marks on her back are long, superficial, as if they just wanted to see her skin break. Someone wanted to hurt her, make her suffer.

Dark fury rolls through me, but I focus on cleaning her wounds. There’s only one person who should be allowed to markher skin and that someone isme. As dark as the thought is, it feels right.

When the blood stops, I put on creams and gauzes, intent on covering her as much as possible. It’s my way of making sure no one else sees her like I have.

I am a reaper, but I am also the one person allowed to heal the great Maeve O’Brien.

When she’s done, she pointedly sits back, letting me have my fill of her. She’s all pale skin, body covered in various bruises and cuts from a hard life running drugs, from beating men three times her size, from torture and mayhem.

Old scars, lines that have been broken into her body, glow under the harsh bathroom lights.

Yet, she is the most incredible creature I’ve ever seen.

Her eyebrow raises. “Need something, Killian?”

This vixen is going to be the death of me.

Standing to my full height, I swipe something from the floor, running the opposite hand through my roguish hair.

“You should rest.” I throw the rag into her trash, ignoring the jerking at my crotch. She’s not the one for me. What can I offer the heir to an Irish clan?

Nothing.

Tell that to my body.

Because who wouldn’t want her? She’s a warrior goddess meant for slaying and loving under bloodred skies.

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