Page 66 of Hostile King

I open the second door on my right as he instructed and enter the naturally styled shower room. It’s surprisingly clean for a guy who lives on his own. Whitewashed planks clad the walls, and a creamy slate floor leads to a sliding glass door where an open-air shower awaits on the other side. It’s framed by thickset bushes and a tall, discreetly hidden panel to control the water flow.

Turning the faucet welcomes a hypnotizing waterfall from a large shower head. Jets stream, dancing over the natural rock base and its slatted wooden platform. Finally stripped out of the filthy dress, I tiptoe into the chamber and inhale a lungful of eucalyptus. The soothing sensation is bittersweet bliss.

Murky water rolls from my nakedness and disappears beneath the boards under foot. My bruised body trembles from being in a constant state of fight or flight. I wish I could stop feeling, and tap into the numbness I used to drown in.

That way my swollen heart wouldn’t be so damn sore. Fate had dropped me into the criminal underworld—I’m now an honorary member of—and even though I barely landed on my feet, it’s changed me.

I’m not a pitiful young girl anymore or the pathetic withering soul who’d let the world crush her. I’m stronger. Painfully aware that life is the most treasured commodity we will ever own.

So, when flashes of death come rushing in and I revisit the moment when Tomas was shot, when he put my life before his own, an overwhelming rush of love and gratitude shakes me to the bone. Tears fall in tandem with rolling water droplets and I palm my stomach to settle myself, holding my other hand over my mouth to mute a sob.

He did that forme, as I would do for him. No hesitation. No questions asked. Even if I had to pull the trigger to protect him. I would morph into a monster too.

I am that monster now, and I wear the battle scars to prove it.

We’re all built for something, our destiny mapped out with soaring highs and wretched lows from the day we take our first breath.

I couldn't be more certain of anything—I belong with Tomás, no matter how ugly our love appears to the world. His distorted soul lives in every part of me.

Despite my newfound sense of self, death isn’t something I’d thoughtlessly inflict upon others. I’d rather save a soul than be the one responsible for watching it perish. Certain things are out of our control and being helpless during Tomás’ operation is my hardest regret. I could almost cry from the helplessness I felt.

It's a caustic reminder for a woman stepping into her true self that she’s only human.

The taste of his blood is in my mouth, even though I’m lathering my hands with a minty soap, so the dried blood settled under my nails washes away. I don’t waste any time, hurriedly rinsing the day’s violence from my messy strands and wrapping up in a clean, air-dried towel, a little crispy and rough.

Dogs howl from outside, the spine-chilling sound making me think a pack of wolves are circling. A shiver runs through me. We need to leave this place as soon as Tomás is well enough to travel. I swallow the ball of saliva formed in my throat and push out into the hallway only for my feet to come to an abrupt stop.

“Holy fuck!” I gasp, gripping my towel the second I freeze.

Ferocious sharp fangs bare at me from a white-faced Husky, lowered and ready to lunge at me. Brilliant blue eyes narrow in on my shocked expression, unwavering in their assessment of my wet skin. It’s not alone. A shadow moves in my peripheral vision.

My pulse skyrockets, thumping in my chest so damn hard that I feel faint.

I take a sip of oxygen and suddenly find the most mystical, vibrant ocean eyes I’ve ever seen. They drag me into the current and sweep away my speech in a deadly tide. The stranger wears no T-shirt, his tanned, bulging arms are covered in animal tattoos.

On quick inspection, there’s a snarling lion with a proud mane. A 3D snake is slithering the length of his forearm, a solo wildcat primed for attack, its sharp claws creeping onto the back of his hand and the crowning spot on his broad chest goes to the face of the husky waiting to rip out my throat on his command.

I’m dumbstruck by his masculine features and logic-defying cosmic eye color. His dark disheveled hair is lightened by golden streaks of sunshine and high chiseled cheekbones give him the sort of facial structure the model industry scouts for. He’s hauntingly striking.

“Call off your dog!” My voice is a wisp of air. “Enrique knows I’m here.”

He doesn’t speak. Although I find him remarkably attractive, my skin isn’t fiery from lust. It's hot from the eeriness of his silence. His extraordinary aquamarine gaze communicates for him as he studies my face first, ever so slowly examining the water droplets rolling into the towel covering my breasts.

The wolf-like dog with similar ethereal irises continues to show its bright white teeth until the guy, not much older than me, sets a large palm on its fluffy head. The instant contact tugs an invisible leash and the growling stops immediately. It transforms from savage soldier to docile pet in a missed heartbeat.

I expect him to question me, instead he gives me one last look, his celestial eyes dawdling on my throat—on the faded bruises I’d forgotten about. Then, in silence, he pivots in his dusty work boots, his thick sinewy legs decorated in the same ink as his arms and wanders off.

I dismiss the mystery of him and bolt back along the corridor, my breath coming hard and fast. Thankfully, the heart monitor still beats out a strong rhythm. I grab Tomás’ wrist and instantly notice his body heat has reduced to a more comfortable temperature.

Enrique obviously had reached his boredom threshold and left. It pleases me that he did. I’d hate for Tomás to wake up in this bed, in this unknown lodge, and not have me there to explain.

I lean over him and kiss his lips, those soft, destructive lips I adore so much.

“Please wake up. Come back to me, I need you more than ever,” I whisper into the side of his face, savoring the waning hint of cologne in his short hair.

Before I settle beside him, I want the clean shirt Enrique had offered and a pair of shorts, preferably track pants. Anything to deflect the attention away from the fact I’m the only woman surrounded by hot-blooded males. Except, I can’t quite figure out if the guy I just met has arctic blue blood in his veins.

This towel is the only thing I have to wear right now, so I make sure I’m tightly mummified from chest to thigh and hurry along the corridor going in the same direction as blue eyes.

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