Page 90 of Shadebound
“Zayden, enough!” I yelled his name over the screams as Maya finally won out and sent a tidal wave of water onto all the dragons, sending them crashing to the floor and wall.
Zayden froze. Not taking his eyes off a spluttering Alessandro as I added, “Go into the bathroom.” I turned to Maya. “Keep them here. They can go to bed and behave, but if not, waterboard them for me. Loud enough that I can hear them choke.”
She grinned, showing her shark-like teeth. “It would be my pleasure.”
Zayden followed me into the bathroom, his breathing hard, eyes wild.
He slumped against the sink with a quiet grunt, arms braced at either side as though the weight of the fight still clung to his limbs. I moved slowly, my fingers brushing the edge of the basin as I reached for the rag left hanging from the chipped metal hook.
I ran it under the tap until the water darkened and ran clear again. Then I turned back to him.
Zayden’s knees were parted just enough for me to slip between them. His skin was flushed with heat and smeared in drying red, the split above his eyebrow crusted thick. A bruise was already forming near his jaw, dull purple blooming beneath the skin.
I reached up and began to wipe away the blood. He didn’t speak. His gaze tracked me, low-lidded, quiet. My hand trembled, just slightly, just enough to make the cloth drag a little harder than I meant it to. He winced. I kept going.
The silence didn’t feel empty. It pressed in with a thousand unsaid things. I could feel them in the way his chest rose and fell too fast. In the way I couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a heartbeat. In the way the water on the rag turned pink, then rust red, then clean again.
He shifted just slightly, not to pull away but to lean closer.
I didn’t know how to breathe through the sound of his breathing. Not until his voice broke the stillness.
“You always this good at first aid?”
I didn’t smile. “You always this bad at staying out of fights?”
His lips twitched at that as I dragged the rag lower. Down the line of his cheekbone, over the curve of his chin, rinsed again, and came back to it. His blood was warm against my fingers.
I had the urge to lick them, but I didn’t think I was in the right headspace to be making such a display of gross romance.
“Thanks,” he muttered. “You didn’t have to clean me up. I know how to deal with bruises.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that for me,” I said, as he pushed his thigh between my legs and I felt the hard expanse of his muscle. “I can handle my own fights. You don’t need to protect me.”
“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do for you.” He growled.
My brows rose as I dabbed at the cut above his eyebrow. He flinched when I pushed harder. “Sorry.” He muttered. “I didn’t mean to growl at you. My wolf is a little bit... bit stressed out.”
“You can growl at me anytime.” I muttered before I cocked my head. “You okay?”
He looked at me like the question didn’t make sense. “Are you?”
I didn’t answer. Not until my heart stopped racing so much, and I sighed over two decades of stress out with a single breath.
“You know the headless roses I had?” My voice was low, not wanting anyone to overhear.
He nodded.
I broke eye contact, needing a second to not see the weight of his stare as I blurted out, “They’re a gift. From a stalker. Anicestalker.”
There was a beat of silence before he laughed. “You have a stalker? That’s so on brand.”
I snuck a glance at him, seeing no signs of distress. “Yes. Since Bells’ funeral.”
“And they leave you thorns and headless flowers?” He asked.
“It’s an inside... not a joke. But a sort of thing. It means something; it isn’t random.”
He smiled softly as he moved his hands, gently resting them on my waist. “And they left you some here?”
