Page 42 of Bad Moon Rising
“The bullet went through. I’m 100 percent sure it’ll heal like the one before.” She rolled up her sleeve to show that wound entirely gone. “Guess I was aiming for symmetrical scars, but doesn’t look like I scar. It doesn’t hurt very much anymore.” She waved him off. Nervous about his closeness, she wanted space. She needed to think. “You okay if I shower? I promise not to bolt through the window.” She stared at the bathroom. “I want the blood off.”
“Go.” His facial expression didn’t deviate from its closed glower. He had to be fighting his own demons like regretting the kiss and denying the order to kill her.
Nova stood in front of the vanity mirror in the bathroom, shaking. Bile rose in her throat as she stared at the monstrous image of herself. Her face looked more like a badly done cross-stitch project than someone real.
She pressed her fingers into her eyes, stemming the flow of tears. She wasn’t going to do this. No falling apart. She was alive. Anyone else, anyone human, would’ve died.She should be grateful for the miracle given to her. The damage would heal—faster than a human, maybe by morning. Incredible.
These tears weren’t entirely about the damage. She fought back the terror of being alone, and of remembering nothing. At this point, the chance of spontaneous return of memory was zero percent. Utterly alone, with no chance to recall anyone or anything of importance.
Roman barely counted as someone she could rely on, since he had his own agenda. He had to remain a means to an end for her, a way to find herself again. So what if she liked him? Okay, like-liked him. And she trusted him. He either had to kill her, die trying when she bested him or he let her win, or the curse would hurt him, maybe kill him.
She knew he’d choose the last option.
Chapter Eleven
Staring at herself until the mirror fogged up felt like something she’d done before, and that freaked her out far more than the scrapes and cuts. More so if she was some sort of international assassin who did bad things.
Who was she?
After the shower, she styled her wet hair into a chaotic bun and wrapped herself in a terrycloth bathrobe from a hook in the bathroom. The blood-soaked clothes were her only option if she wanted to wear something other than the bathrobe.
When she emerged in the robe, showered, and dried, he still sat on the sofa watching TV. His gaze flickered to her for an instant before returning to the screen.
She settled in beside him, careful to keep a few feet between them. Within minutes, she started zoning out. So tired.
She jerked awake, finding herself snuggled up to him with her head against his hard, warm chest.
His big hand lay across her hip. Time ticked by as she breathed him in. A masculine mixture of soap and the essence of him filled her up. She memorized the scent—all Roman.
One of her hands lay on his lap. So close…
She imagined Roman naked. Her hand on his erection, stroking him up and down as he sat here. His abdominal muscles flexing with her touch. Him in her mouth as she teased and tormented him…
Roman flipping their positions. The feel of his scruff along her inner thighs, scraping and burning her skin.
Enough.
This throbbing sensation had to stop before it eclipsed everything, and she lost control and threw herself at him.
The TV still flickered news images.
She didn’t want to talk or even make eye contact. It’d break the spell. She wanted this time right here, knowing it might be the only chance she got to feel him this close, free of all the external factors that pushed on them.
When it became obvious he knew she no longer slept, she glanced up.
His hand jerked off her hip.
“Sorry,” she muttered, pushing up off his solid chest. She stood and moved to a window, opening the curtain to allow early morning light to spill inside. Down in the gated garden below, a woman wearing a ball cap with a ponytail hanging out the back prowled the area. The way she slowly swept the small garden gave her true intent away. Assassin.
Again, how would she know? She trusted her gut.
How had they tracked her here?
Without warning, Roman crowded in behind her and shut the curtains. “This place isn’t safe anymore.”
“Did you worry I’d run from you instead of return?”
“It wouldn’t have surprised me, but I like a good chase.”
