Without thinking, he reached and grasped her arm, gently. He tugged her towards him, demanding her attention back on him.
She gasped as she was now facing him, his touch sending shock waves through her.
And once again without fail, his body acted...
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Demi hissed as she pulled on a small cardigan, her shoulder burning.
She pushed herself onto her feet gently, her wounds were healing slowly. It was a side effect to the blonde Witches magic apparently.
Her feet killed her, the bottoms aching so bad when she walked around. But she didn't want to tell anyone.
She had tried to get to the bathroom last night, Onyx had awoken immediately to the smell of her bloody footprints. He was obviously upset at her getting up but refrained from saying anything, only carrying her to the bathroom. It was one of the many times she'd woken up through the night.
Now it was the day after, both the mates had been relatively quiet around one another. Everyone coming to check on her and help while Onyx stayed by her side and doting dutifully.
He'd only left when her father forced him out to clean his wound and take care of himself.
She took the opportunity to get dressed, Onyx didn't want her to strain herself or rub against the wounds.
She did not care what he wanted. Her lightning strike wounds were healed over thankfully, not completely raw skin. It was just sensitive.
She put on the prettiest dress she could find, but when putting it on and seeing the scars on her shoulder that were visible- she felt anything but pretty.
So now, she grabbed the matching cardigan.
Demi limped over to her vanity, gripping a headband for her knotty hair. She plopped clumsily into her chair, trying to brush her hair.
She wished her floating magic was a little more refined right now. Her float was essentially hovering over the same spot she was in. It was fun but not very handy, when the only way to move was to propel yourself or have someone push you.
Demi jumped when her door opened quickly, Onyx looking like he'd rushed here.
She glanced at the clock, it had only been forty minutes. She thought she'd have an hour.
"Why'd you get up?" he growled.
"I don't like sitting around, it makes me stir crazy."
"Demi, you have to give yourself time to rest. Why the hell did you go through all this trouble," he came behind her to grip her brush. He met her gaze through the mirror as he began brushing her locks. He'd scrubbed the remnants of blood from her hair last night when she began crying at the sight of it.
She didn't answer him, only looking down to pick at her dress.
Usually he compliments her outfits. He probably thinks she looks ugly with her scars. That's why he said all those things, he knew she'd be ugly.
