She suppressed a smile. If any one of them knew she could take care of herself, it was him. They fought together often enough when they hunted the paranormal creatures who failed to follow human laws—like those who enjoyed torturing humans and even eating them rather than living peacefully next to them.
“Do they know what you are?” Something about the way the elves tried to capture the other hellhound didn’t sit right with her. They were up to no good, and she feared it had to do with that murder room.
“No.” The smile dropped off Ascher’s face, suspicions darkening his blue eyes. “Why?”
Relief trickled through her. “Keep it that way. I fear both of us are on the elves’ most-wanted list.”
Chapter Twelve
Morgan sent Ascher into the hall to keep watch and warn if anyone approached. Even in human form, he had a way of blending into the shadows. If he didn’t want to be seen, no one would see him, even if he was standing only a foot away.
As she closed the door behind him, she tightened her grip on the knob, instantly wishing to call him back. She didn’t want to be alone with Atlas, her anger a vicious, ugly thing that threatened to consume her rational thoughts.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t avoid Atlas forever. He needed medical care. Tucking away the wounded edges of her emotions, she began searching the boxes around them, gathering what old clothes she could find, ripping them into strips. After ten minutes, she realized that she had more than enough bandages to wrap him up like a mummy.
No more delaying the inevitable.
Too bad she wasn’t able to figure out a way to separate herself from her emotions the way he did. As she approached his brooding presence, he didn’t say a word. She grabbed the shackles around his wrists, ignoring the way the magic tried to worm its way under her skin. Instead of her having to break the spell, the metal simply flaked apart at her command. Without the metal to hold the magic, the spell dissipated.
“You’re getting pretty good at controlling metal.” Morgan nearly jumped at the raw, rough sound of Atlas’s voice, so different from the smooth tone he normally used. Only one thing caused that kind of damage—screams. He had so much restraint, she couldn’t imagine what torture they used to break him. “You’ve been practicing.”
“Hmmm.” She didn’t trust herself to say more.
While there was no way in hell she was going to let him off the hook so easily, her resolve wavered at the evidence of what he had endured.
The condition of his wrists alone made bile rise in her throat.
No skin remained on the two-inch swath where the metal had rested. The flesh beneath oozed blood and pus, white tendons shining through the charred muscles, resembling scorched barbecue.
Damned iron!
Her meager supplies weren’t going to do shit to help him, but at least she could make him comfortable. “Take off your shirt.”
He didn’t move, and she looked up to find him watching her.
Only when their eyes met did he move to obey, and she hated the way her stomach fluttered in response to his provocative move. Then she saw the mess they made of his body. Yellow and putrid green bruises marred every bit of his skin, some areas so dark she knew they inflicted internal damage, not to mention more than a few broken ribs.
She dabbed at the worst of the wounds as best she could with their meager supplies, the silence between them becoming heavier and more awkward as time passed. No matter how hard she tried to stop herself, her eyes were drawn repeatedly to the bold markings across his upper chest. Her fingers tingling with the urge to touch the mark. With each second, the need was turning into more of a craving, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could resist. Needing a distraction, she asked the question that had started this whole mess in the first place. “Tell me why you were banished.”
Atlas winced when she reached a particularly nasty wound at his side, but Morgan doubted he even felt it, her questions striking him much harder.
The injury looked as if he’d been beaten with a rusty pipe, the jagged metal ripping and tearing into his flesh with every strike, until his skin resembled tenderized meat. He sat still through her ministrations, stoic and silent.
She knew what he wanted…he wanted her to look at him, get sucked into whatever spell he was weaving around her. Well, fuck him. She wasn’t going to forgive him simply because he flashed those hypnotizing emerald green eyes at her.
When she finished tying the last of the bandages around his chest and moved to back away, he reached out to grab her hand. “Wait.”
“Don’t touch me.” Morgan knocked his hand away, suddenly infuriated by his attitude. “You gave up that right when you denied the mating marks.”
“Dammit! I was trying to keep you safe.” Atlas sprang up from where he was sitting with a grace that she envied, blocking her exit. He pulled the shirt she’d found over his head, and she only realized it was a size too small when the material clung to his frame. She called herself all kinds of an idiot for not being able to pull her eyes away from the magnificent way he filled out the tight shirt. Bruised or not, he was a very fine specimen of the perfect assassin. While he might be lean, every inch of him was pure muscle, and poetry in motion.
Only when he finished pulling down his shirt and covering himself, did she realize that she was the biggest fool on earth.
“Keep me safe?” The men behaved as if she had been pampered since birth like a helpless female who couldn’t survive without having them to tell her what to do—jackasses! Bitterness nearly choked her when she laughed. “Please…that’s a mates’ place, not yours. You didn’t want that job, remember?”
When she turned to walk away, he moved faster than she thought possible given his injuries, grabbed her arm, and swung her around to face him. She broke his hold, but he quickly grabbed her other arm. She twisted loose, almost managed to escape, when he grabbed her shoulders and thrust her up against a wall, pinning her when she tried to knee him in the groin.
“Would you listen to me!”
At his shout, her mouth snapped shut. She’d never heard him raise his voice, even while fighting.
He never lost control, seeing emotions as a weakness, thanks to his elven heritage.
Until tonight.
She curled her fingers into fists to keep from reaching for him, wanting to smooth back his shorn, wild hair. His green eyes were wide, his chest heaving. “In this world, you are better off without me. I will not be the one to cause your downfall. I will not drag you down with me.”
Bitterness tinged his voice, and he dropped his eyes, as if unable to look at her anymore.
“You’re trying to spare me.” She hated such noble bullshit, but she didn’t doubt for a second that he believed he spoke the truth. “Why don’t you let me be the one to decide what’s best for me? Ever since I set foot into the Academy, every single one of you has been trying to decide what I need, but none of you have ever asked me.”
Atlas stilled, so she knew he was listening.
“I cursed fate for putting me in a similar situation, stuck with an unwanted mate, only a few months ago, and you were the one who told me to grow up, spouting crap about fate having plans for us all. You can’t have it both ways. Why should I listen to you if you think you’re beyond the reach of fate?”
Being so close to him made everything hurt, no doubt the stupid mating mark making her crave his nearness. She wished they could go back to being friends.
“I have a price on my head.” He shuffled closer, as if he couldn’t help himself, his eyes never wandering away from hers…like she was the most important person in the world to him.
Morgan twisted her hand free and cupped his jaw. Her heart wrenched in her chest when he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “A bigger price than what they are offering for a princess and next ruler of the primordial realm?”