Page 83 of Forbidden Devotion
Mitchel took his hand and guided him into the shower. They clung together under the rush of hot water, letting the events of the horrible night wash down the drain where they belonged.
Mitchel soaped his body, scrubbing away dirt and grime. Sinclair gazed up gratefully, and Mitchel brought his hand to Sinclair’s cheek, touching it with only the tips of his fingers.
“They hit you,” Mitchel said, a low growl in the back of his throat.
“Only once. I convinced him to stop. It helped that they were afraid of retaliation.”
“I’d kill them all over again for this.”
“You did a fine job the first time. The one you gutted? He was the one who left this mark.”
“Good.” Mitchel kissed the bruise, lips gentle on the tender flesh.
Sinclair reached for the soap and washed Mitchel, who was even worse off. He took his time working the lather in soothing circles until nothing remained but Mitchel’s tanned, beautiful skin, all soap rinsed away. He kneaded the muscles of Mitchel’s broad shoulders, easing the tension out of his body one stroke at a time.
Mitchel let out a pleased sigh under his touch. The sound brought a smile to his lips. Strong arms wrapped around him. Sinclair leaned in, his weight resting on Mitchel’s chest, and pressed his face into that perfect juncture of neck and shoulder. The blood flowing underneath that soft skin called to him. He could smell it, and it smelled divine.
“Mitchel.” Sinclair breathed into his neck, lips grazing his skin. “Can I…”
Finishing the sentence was unnecessary. Mitchel was already tilting his head to make room. “Of course, love, you don’t need to ask.”
Sinclair could have purred. He sank his fangs gently into soft flesh. When the first drop hit his tongue, his knees buckled, but Mitchel held him firm. Pleasure coursed through his veins, sparking desire as he savored the precious drink. He shut his eyes and let the taste consume him for as long as he dared.
But he wouldn’t take much. Mitchel was big and strong and would easily weather the loss of a few swallows. Sinclair wouldn’t overindulge.
He retracted his fangs. Water crept into the deep-red droplets, diluting the flavor but drawing out the experience. Finally, he licked the twin punctures, and the skin sealed neatly before his eyes.
“Thank you.” Sinclair sighed into Mitchel’s ear.
The meal left him feeling refreshed or, if not quite that, at least slightly less dead on his feet. Mitchel guided him out of the shower and dried them both off.
Settled into bed, curled against each other, Sinclair relished the secure feeling that had been stolen from him. Mitchel gave it back effortlessly.
He couldn’t quite close his eyes to sleep. “I was so afraid,” Sinclair admitted in a quiet voice. “I thought they’d kill me in their ignorance.”
“I was afraid too. Afraid I’d lose you,” Mitchel confessed.
“Did you lose any wolves in the explosion?” Sinclair asked cautiously.
“I don’t know yet. The other alphas were still assessing losses and attempting rescues when I left.” He paused. When he continued, his voice was stilted. “I don’t know what happened to Ramsey…after I carried him out of the rubble. He was injured. Unconscious. I don’t know if he made it.”
Sinclair tightened his embrace. “I’m sorry.”
“He has to pull through. I’d never forgive myself for the way we left off if he’s—”
“Ssh, don’t think it. Ramsey is strong, and he’s in the care of an expert medical team,” Sinclair assured him. “Envision him recovering stronger than ever.”
“I will.”
“I don’t remember ever being this tired.”
“Close your eyes. Sleep well.” Mitchel kissed his forehead, and Sinclair did as he was told with a sigh of gratitude.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Mitchel
They slept nearlythe entire day, waking only to settle closer together. Sinclair’s warm weight against him had made it difficult to get out of bed, but they were both eager to check on Nathan and Ramsey.
