Page 11 of Lycan King's Claim
Because I definitely cannot breathe right now. As the thought flitters through my head, I let go of his hands, and my fist connected with his throat. The shock of it sends him back, clutching his neck as he gasps. I suck in a huge lung full of air, feeling dizzy when he suddenly shifts.
I instantly regret hitting him; I rather suffocate than be torn apart. Xandros stalks me, and my eyes widen in horror. I race for the door, screaming for Javier. However, no sound comes out of my crushed windpipe, the attempt just causing my vocal cords to grate. My hands fumble for the door handle. As expected, it's locked when Xandros's body crashes against mine, his weight crushing me against the door as his teeth slice through my shoulder.
I try to shift, to remember how through my panic, yet the notion evades me, so I freeze, and give up, knowing he'll kill me. At least if I don't fight, it will be quick, I hope. His claws rake down the door, slicing it like a hot knife through butter before slashing through my shoulder.
My scream is deafening, and the sound seems to stun him temporarily when I hear the claws of his other hand slip down the door; the sound is like nails on a chalkboard. A whimper escapes me, and I grip his wrist before his claws can get me on the other side when I feel the claws embedded in my shoulder blade pull out like hooks.
Suddenly the furry wrist I am gripping turns to the skin, his hands returning, and he stumbles back. My legs give out from under me the moment he does, and I lean against the door. Xandros stares at his hand, covered in my blood. His shock at what he did was evident, yet he did it, and no doubt blames me for his lack of control.
I watch him silently, my body trembling with pain and fear. Xandros stares at his bloody hand for a moment before his eyes snap up to meet mine. His expression is unreadable.
"I'm… I didn't mean to… I," he mutters, taking a step toward me.
I shuffle away from him, the pain in my shoulder making it hard to move. "Don't touch me," I hiss through gritted teeth.
Xandros stops in his tracks, frozen by my words. I flinch as he reaches out to touch me, I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable pain that will come with it. It never comes. Instead, all I feel is gentle pressure on my shoulder as Xandros examines the wound he inflicted upon me. His hand is warm against my skin, and for a moment, I let myself lean into his touch, the pain in my shoulder momentarily forgotten.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he repeats softly, his voice filled with regret. "I don't know what came over me."
I open my eyes, staring up at him. His eyes are dark pools filled with a mix of emotions that I can't decipher. "I'll get you cleaned up," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I’m surprised by his sudden change in demeanor. "You can go; I'm sure Javier will be by soon; I'll be fine," I tell him, my voice hoarse from the strain of screaming. His proximity is tormenting my bond; I prefer it to remain numb, and I don't want his guilt awakening it.
Xandros looks up at me, his eyes softening. "You're probably right," he says simply before standing and heading to the bathroom to grab some supplies.
I don't know what to make of his sudden behavior change. I let him clean up my wound. As he works, the wound bleeds more, refusing to heal. Xandros purses his lips, looking at it, annoyed. "You're not healing," he mumbles.
Xandros bites his wrist, lifting it toward me, and I turn my face away. "Let me heal you," he tells me. All I can think is the bond re-awakening. I can't help wondering if this is all just another game to him, another way for him to assert control over me. Or just to soothe his guilt. Then again, a part of me wants to believe he truly cares. "Sienna!" he urges.
"I don't want it!" I tell him. "It'll heal, just wrap it so you can leave," I tell him.
When he finishes dressing my wound, he looks at me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. I give up trying to read his expression, turning my face away to stare at the fireplace. He wraps it in some gauze. "I'll send Javier up with proper first aid," he says simply before leaving.
When he does, I return to the fireplace, sitting in front of it, trying to get warm. Blood soaks through my shirt, and not even five minutes later, Javier rushes in, then stops in his tracks.
He stares at my state of me, then he suddenly rips at my clothes. I hear him gasp, wondering how bad it is. Trying to see it, I peer over my shoulder to see the jagged wounds. Javier opens his mouth to speak, then growls when he can't. He holds a finger up, leaves the room, and returns with a notepad and pencil. He writes on the pad, showing me.
Why didn't he heal you?
"He tried, I refused," I tell him, and his brows furrow before hastily scribbling.
Why?
I shake my head, and he taps his notepad fiercely with his finger, wanting me to answer. Sighing, I answer. "Because his blood will awaken the bond," I whisper. Javier hangs his head and grips his hair in frustration, making me wonder how many times I sent him to bed with a headache.
He sits back, opening the first aid kit, which looks hospital-grade. He rummages around, pulling out a needle. I scoot away from him, and he growls, then snatches his pad and pencil.
Either stitches, or you let him heal you!
I glare at the needle, then give him my back. He sighs loudly and rummages around. I stare at the fire, trying to ignore what he's doing. It hurts. I keep moving away, only for him to drag me back.
It takes nearly an hour for him to stitch it, his efforts interrupted by constant attempts to convince me to let Xandros heal me. It isn't worth the torment.
When he's done, I look like a stitched rag doll.
Javier grabs his notepad and pencil.
I'm not a doctor. It will hold.
