Queen of Death

Chapter 17

Once we're in the master bathroom she sets about filling the giant tub with water giving me time to get a look at myself in the mirror for the first time in days. I look even worse than I feel. I'm caked in mud and dirt, scratches litter my skin like confetti, the bags under my eyes have bags of their own, and blood trails down the side of my head where she cut me.

Hands tearing at my clothes break me from my grim self-assessment. "Sol, honestly, I can take it from here." I say half-heartedly. I don't want her to feel like she has to take care of me, it should be the other way around.

"Can you fold in your wings?" She rubs the muscles and any further argument dies an immediate death in my throat. The only sounds I'm capable of are groans from how fucking good it feels when she kneads my aching muscles.

"Oh Gods," I groan. "Please do that again."

"What, this?" She drags her thumb firmly over a cord of muscles in my wing making my eyes roll all the way back. She continues her ministrations while the tub fills. The muscles relax more with each pass of her expert fingers.

Now is absolutely not the time to be wondering what her fingers would feel like on other muscles, what they might feel like wrapped around my length.

"Ah!" I curse loudly when she presses against a large knot.

"Got it," she says triumphantly. "You were hit with a paralytic. The head of the dart was still embedded in your wing like a splinter, it's why you weren't able to move them." She rubs the spot where the dart had been. "The poison affects its target locally so it should fade out in a minute or so now that the dart is out. Tell me what happened while I get you out of the rest of your clothes."

I raise a curious brow at her and she shoots back a don't-even-think-about-it look of her own.

"I was with Hunter heading for the windows. He was going to blow one of them with a sticky bomb but you blew through it like a torpedo. We followed you and Tate, I covered Hunter and once he was clear I turned and jumped through the window too." I explain to her as she drops my tattered shirt into the trash and begins unbuckling my jeans.

"I spread my wings to lift off but I was hit in the back. There was no way I could fly so I ran like hell for the tree line. The guards didn't chase me far into the forest but by then I had lost all sight of you guys and I was all turned around." She throws my jeans into the trash along with my shirt and hooks her thumbs into the waistband of my briefs.

I grab her wrists and hold them in place at my hips. "Solana, please," I implore her to let me handle things from here. Having her this close to me, making my body feel this good, and denying myself from reaching out and doing anything about it is driving me even crazier.

Denial is a positive feedback loop. The more I deny myself the more worked up I get.

"Dean," her voice cracks with emotion. "Please, let me."

I nod my consent and she slowly peels my briefs down my bruised and tired legs, letting me step out of them and kick them to the side on my own. Her hands are back on me as soon as she stands, roaming over every inch of skin.

"You've bruised 8 ribs, your wing is swollen pretty badly where the dart was embedded, and you probably won't grow hair along this line on your head ever again — sorry about that by the way. But other than that it's little cuts and scrapes that will heal in a day now that you're home."

Her fingertips skate across my body with a featherlight touch leaving a trail of sparks on my skin in their wake.

I have to put some distance between us. If her hands stay on me any longer I'm going to combust. The water prickles and stings my skin as I ease myself down into the tub. Sol has warmed it to near boiling and my muscles love her for it.

With my wings tucked away at last, I sit down and stretch my legs, laying back against the tub and letting my eyes close.

"I couldn't fly," my voice sounds loud echoing through the cavernous bathroom even though it feels like I'm only whispering. "And I couldn't fold my wings in so I had no choice but to move at night when I couldn't be spotted as easily. I ran due south until I got closer to Alec's packlands so I could orient myself. Then I was able to find my way back to the city."

"And then you thought you'd just walk in here after two days without so much as a text?"

"Phone died. I climbed up the service elevator shaft and figured Ace would have scented me."

"Ace isn't here," she says hastily. "He took the guys out before they went stir crazy with worry. Eli is downstairs in the gym working himself to death."

"And Tate? How is he?" I swallow down a thick lump in my throat. I wasn't lying when I told her I worried about who was taking care of them. Thinking about Tate regressing back into a recluse without me there almost broke me more than once in the last two days.

She gives me a heartbreaking smile, "he's doing okay. I can't read him as well as you obviously can but he's been keeping to himself. He lets me in..."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. You shouldn't have been burdened with filling in for me. But I'm here now so feel free to go relax. I'll come down soon."

Her brows dip with indignance and her head cocks back like I slapped her. "They're not a burden and neither are you."

"Sol, I'm fine. I can take care of myself. I know you feel guilty or obligated or whatever but I'm fine. I've suffered worse."

"Don't tell me how I'm feeling. You have no idea what I'm thinking or feeling —"

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?" I snap in a moment of weakness, instantly regretting how harsh I sound. Not so much what I said but how I said it. "I've tried to read you a thousand times but you have your heart and your mind sealed in an ironclad tomb. I haven't forgotten why and I respect that but..."

"But what?" She presses me.

"But I can't take care of you if you don't show me how."

She's silent for a while, looking off to the side over her shoulder. Then slowly she stands, and just as slowly she begins to strip off her clothes.

"What are you —" I cut myself off when she climbs into the tub in nothing but her bra and panties and straddles my legs. She grabs a washcloth, pours a generous amount of body wash onto it, and lathers it up in her hands.

With patient and tender ceremony, she drags the washcloth over my chest, erasing the last two days with every pass. When she reaches my shoulders something slams into me, reaching out to me to acknowledge. It's an emotion, a bittersweet emotion tainted with regret. But it's not mine.

I look at her with wide eyes but I dare not breathe a word lest she shut me out again. Because these emotions can only be coming from her. She's finally letting me in.

Rage, uncertainty, determination, hope, guilt, regret.

It's all there, filling her heart and pouring out of those flaming, green eyes of hers.

"You...you're letting me in," I say, awestruck.

She nods, sincerity and relief bleeds off of her. "Now let me take care of you."