Page 60 of Hooked on a Witch
He’d faced off with the scariest of the scary without a second thought. Yet, this woman terrified him. The moment his lips touched hers each time he was sucked into a haze of longing and sexual need so intense he forgot everything but her. It’d blown his mind the first time and again the second time. The details of their long-ago moment that led to him pressed tight against her with her back against a tree were hazy. What he recalled was fear she held the power to control him and to hurt him. Losing the upper hand was against his mantra.
He didn’t need a shrink to untangle the web of why he needed control. He’d been smacked around by his “mother” and her friends when little until he got old enough to punch back. He’d been forced to do things he didn’t want to remember.
Their first kiss when he’d lost his mind, she never tried to manipulate him to the degree he worried. Sure, she’d used his weakness to get away from him yesterday, but not to hurt him or coerce him into doing something ugly.
So much time wasted. Now they had no time left. Although she’d stopped his immediate death today, she didn’t have the power to change the gods’ minds.
Her eyes blinked open and met his. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he croaked out. He wanted answers, such as why she was here and how she ended up on top of him, but right now in the wake of his relief that both of them were alive, all he had the energy to do was to sling an arm around her waist and close his eyes. She didn’t complain, but burrowed into him. With the Armageddon shitstorm descending on them and their death countdown clocks ticking away, he should get in motion. He should ask questions and figure out the mysteries.
What mattered was her here. Them together was the only right now he wanted. The concerns pressing on his mind faded away as he relaxed.
Later when he opened his eyes, it was dark. “We should go inside.”
“Hmm?” She punctuated her drowsy question with a stretch.
He smiled. “We should go in.”
“Yeah.” She pushed off his chest to sit up, but the movement was gentle. Her gaze in the moonlight was filled with worry when it found his. “You think you can make it inside?”
“I’m fine.” He sat up, instantly dizzy. Maybe not as fine as he thought. His back ached, but it was more of a complaint from lying so long in one position with her on top of him. Even though the stab wound might be improved, possibly gone, he was nowhere near ready to jump up for a ten-mile run. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d make the walk into the house.
He managed a kneel and staggered to a stand. She grabbed his biceps to help him balance as best she could considering she was so much smaller than him.
“Easy there.” She slung an arm around his waist. “Lean on me.”
Their progress inside was slow. He almost nose-dived on the six steps into the house, but she caught him.
“The den is good.” He chin-pointed to the sofa. Their progress to the sofa was slow. When within hopping distance, he angled to land on the soft surface, ending up in an inelegant sit-sprawl.
Head spinning. Stomach rolling. Yep, he wasn’t moving from right here with a plan to remain still.
“Hold on.” She walked out of the room.
The sound of her walking though his house made him realize how empty it normally was—and also how quiet. Usually there was only the sound of the waves lulling him or calling to him from a distance. There wasn’t any street noise in this rural part of Port Royal. No late-night traffic, no sirens, and no neighbors too close.
He liked his solitude, but liked it even better with her here.
She returned with the pillow and comforter off his bed. She patted the pillow. “Lie down.”
No argument from him, not with his brain hazing in and out. He lay back and stared at the ceiling. The room still spun. With his eyelids shut, he focused on deep breaths.
Her shampoo teased him as she leaned in and placed the comforter over him. “It’s cold in here. Do you keep it set at sixty-five or something?”
“Need it cold to sleep.”
“Naturally hot-blooded. Got it.” Her fingers touched his forehead. “You’re burning up.” She pulled up his shirt. “The skin looks better, though. The black-and-purple parts are gone.” He thought he detected a bit of awe in her tone, but was too tired to open his eyes and interpret her expression to figure out the nuance behind her words. Also too whacked to see how good the stab wound looked, although he was curious.
Her fingers drifted over the area he’d been knifed. He expected pain but felt only the softness of her touch.
Her voice came out as a whisper when she asked, “Who stabbed you?”
“Poisoned blade…warlock.”
“Lucky I found you, then. Do you need anything right now? Water or something else to drink?”
“Orange juice.” It came out slurred and sounded more likeorig ju.
