Page 60 of Ever Dark

“I always bleed.” He sits in my spot on the couch and pats the spot next to him. “Come sit.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You need new bandages and ointment.”Why do I care?

He smirks. “Aw, are you worried about me, baby girl?”

“I just don’t want you getting blood on my floors,” I bite back. But the heat in my body is rising by the second. The way he looks at me like I’m some puzzle to solve. The way his chiseled arm is draped across the back of my couch. It’s all I can do not to give in, to nuzzle up next to his hard body and let him do vile things to me again.

“Well, go get them then.” He settles back against the couch and props his feet up on the coffee table.

I could fucking slap him. I ball my fists at my sides. “I don’t know where they are,” I grit out.

His eyes light up with amusement. He’s enjoying every second of my discomfort. “Most of the old houses in Ever Graves have an infirmary. Back in the Poison War Era, they needed to have their own medical supplies and equipment on hand. If I remember correctly, yours is on the third floor. At the end of the first hall. They kept those rooms away from windows and entrances. They didn’t want their sick or wounded being too vulnerable.”

My mouth gapes open. “How do you know wheremyfamily’s old-timey infirmary is located?”

He shrugs again in that way that he does where he acts like he doesn’t care or is bored but he’s actually enjoying pushing mybuttons. “We are trying to buy this house, Mia. Of course, we have the blueprints to it.”

I feel my cheeks flame. I ball my fists tighter. I might actually take a swing at him. “We can discuss how that’s an invasion of privacy on the way up there.” I shove his feet off my table. “Come on. Up. I’m not your fucking servant.”

He laughs and springs up, nearly knocking me over as he steps into me. He thumbs my lip as he gazes down. “I like it when you’re bossy.”

A breath catches in my throat. A vision of him pinning me to my breakfast table flashes in my mind. The way he fingered the edges of my panties, teasing my entrance and edging the fuck out of me. “I’m just trying to get you patched up and out ofmyhouse as quickly as possible.”

I spin on my heel before he can dish out another smart-ass response. My pulse seems to echo in my ears, throbbing violently with every step I take. He follows close behind on the stairs. Too fucking close. The scent of musk and motor oil waft up my nose.Fucking pheromones.

When I reach the top of the stairs, my knees wobble, and I misjudge the last step. I stumble back into his chest.

“Easy, little lamb. You’re supposed to be patchingmeup, remember?” He chuckles in my ear. “Do you need me to carry you?” He grips my waist firmly, holding me upright.

I blow out a deep breath and wrangle free. “I’m fine. I’ve had too much coffee.” I don’t dare turn around yet. I know my cheeks must be bright red. I can feel the heat emanating off them, spreading to my neck and chest.

The third floor is as dark and musty as I remember it. I’ve been avoiding coming up here ever since I found that invoice from Absentia Asylum in the office.

He breezes past me and leads us the rest of the way to the infirmary. I was picturing some creepy, sterile operating room straightout of a horror movie, so I’m surprised to find a cozy room resembling a kitchen instead.

The light flickers on to reveal a few cots, a sink and cabinets surrounding it, and a rolling caddy. There are three trays with medical implements that look like they’ve never been touched. And along the wall, bottles of alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, and iodine line the shelves.

Bones plops down on the edge of a cot. “You gonna fix me up now, Nurse Harker?”

His gaze is unnerving. Fuck. I roll my eyes at him. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?” I rifle through the drawers in the cabinet until I find some cotton pads, gauze, and tape. I set those on the rolling caddy before grabbing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I saw someone clean a wound on a TV show once. It’s not like I have to sew a stitch or take a bullet out. How hard can it be?

I sigh as I wash my hands in the sink. The only challenge will be keeping my legs closed while I’m doing it. This man makes me fucking feral.

“All right. Give me your hands,” I demand.

He smirks as he studies my face, watching me as I unravel his bloody gauze. I wince when I see his marred flesh. “Fucking hell, Bones. Were you punching a meat grinder?”

He clucks his tongue. “Glass, baby girl. That window had it coming.”

Fuck. I pause for a second, contemplating on what to say next. I shake my head and continue, pouring the peroxide onto a cotton pad. “You wanna talk about it?”

He doesn’t even flinch when I press the pad to his first knuckle. “You want my sob story. Is that it?” He snickers.

I swallow hard as I make my way down the line of bloody knuckles. “I didn’t think assholes had sob stories.”

He bursts out laughing. “Damn. I really fucking like you. You don’t bullshit. My abuela would love you.”

---