TimeBound (Time Tells #1) (COMPLETED)

Chapter Fourteen

My husband opens the door to our house and ushers me in. I enter, staring quietly at my husband.

"Go to the personal lounge and wait for me." He says.

I nod and walk into the house. I push the revolving door and enter. I sit on the armchair beside the fireplace and stare into the flames that start to grow as soon as I sit.

It had been more than an hour since I had found out my husband could control the shadows of this world.

I stare into the flames, recalling telling my husband to leave the men to the authorities.

All of my husband's men had looked to him while Kri had stared straight into the eyes of the criminal who had confessed, for two whole minutes, before meeting the eyes of his men.

He had nodded swiftly at them, turned and lead me out. Bal hadn't followed us.

Kri had escorted me to the passenger seat of the car, opened the door for me, helped me settle in and walked around to the driver's seat.

We had pulled on our seatbelts at the same time and he put the car into drive. Using the heel of his palm he swivelled the wheel to steer us out of there.

We had remained quiet the whole ride home. All I did was stare at my husband. To think I would be attracted to the way he sat...the style of his driving. His stead fast gaze against the road, the way he rests his wrist over the top of the wheel and how the fingers of his free hand was spread on his thigh.

I had unabashedly checked my husband out for the whole ride home. God bless the man, he never turned to catch me in the act.

I shake my head, coming back to myself just as the swivel door revolves and stays, allowing for Kri to enter with a box in his hands. He had folded his sleeves up and his tie was off. Top button open.

The shirt was almost as dark as his skin and it drew my eyes to every bit of him I could see. He slides the ottoman over with his foot and sets it right before me.

Then, he sits with his legs in either side of it and sets the box on the floor beside him. He opens it, pulling out some cotton, disinfectant and salve.

I stare up at him, my stomach tying itself in knots at how close he was.
He agitates the bottle of disinfectant into a ball of cotton. His eyes catch mine and stay. Placing the bottle aside, he takes my arm.

"It will sting." He warns me.

I don't say anything, I just keep my eyes on his. He drops his gaze to gently disinfect the wounds on my arm. It does sting, but the way he touches me has my mind distracted from the pain.

His fingers hold me as if I'm made from the most precious petals of a flower. A flower he cherishes.

After he's disinfected one arm, he does the same for the other, his eyes rapt to his work. I tilt my head to keep my gaze on his face.

But his face remains expressionless, eyes downcast and hair falling over his forehead. My fingers itch to push it away.

"We destroyed our planet." He says softly, without looking at me.

My brows furrow as I look at him.

"Or at least, our ancestors did."
He disposes the cotton and lifts the salve. He presses the tube and salve curls out onto his waiting finger.

He begins to apply it on my torn skin. The sensation is immediately a relief from the sting. I relax instinctively.

"Our kind were, are, religious beings. But even that didn't stop us from the eventual exploitation of our world." His voice is low, like he was telling a story, "If anything, we called the names of our Gods in our every task and used our religiousness as an excuse to make ourselves feel better."