I turned over, propping my back against the headboard. I’d ditched the ruined button up shirt for a dark purple one—man-sized so I wouldn’t be exposing too much. Sure, he was an angel, but I couldn’t help wanting to be modest around him anyway. Maybe because he was my friend now. Thankfully, the wound was high on my chest, so I could still wear a bra underneath.
I started to unbutton the shirt myself but he told me not to since one of my hands still had a magnificent bruise across the knuckles. Lucky me, though, because it didn’t hurt that much any more. The purplish skin had grown stiff, but I could tell it was beginning to heal, as was the circle of bruises around my throat. With Raphael’s continued treatments, they would fade within days.
Michael waved his hand in front of my face, making me jump. “I asked you if you were hungry.”
Damn, I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been thinking. He’d finished checking the bandages without me even noticing. “Yeah.”
He tilted his head a little. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re chewing your bottom lip like you do when you’re trying not to frown.”
I stared at him in shock. “How could you have possibly noticed that about me? We’ve known each other for like what? Three days?”
Michael merely shrugged. I shook my head. “Go get me food.”
After a moment, I added the word “please” and Michael cracked a smile. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Always a charmer, aren’t we?” With that, he loped off to the kitchen. I watched him go with a strange sort of bemusement. I couldn’t understand how Michael rolled with the punches the way he did. My personality was naturally cranky, but for some reason he didn’t seem to mind. I wondered if the patience came from being an angel.
Somewhere during my musing, I caught a whiff of how I smelled and nearly gagged. My body had been in such a delicate condition that I hadn’t been able to shower since the incident. Unacceptable. I tossed the covers back and set my feet on the floor, firmly resolved to fix this problem. My legs burned with pain after I stood up and several ligaments cracked, but it wasn’t too bad altogether. Huzzah.
I shuffled my way over to the dresser in front of the bed and gathered some undergarments from the corner of the drawer. Really needed to wash my clothes soon. Maybe I’d guilt my new bodyguard into doing them for me. I managed to reach the bathroom without toppling over or anything when Michael called from the kitchen.
“What kind of food are you in the mood for?”
“The edible kind.” I yelled back. “It’ll have to wait until after my shower.”
A pause. Hurried footsteps. Michael appeared in the doorway with a frown. “Wait, what?”
I pointed at the tub. “Me. Shower. Now.”
“Jordan, you really shouldn’t be moving around that much. Your stitches might tear. Can’t this wait a little longer?”
“The day I can’t wash my own ass is the day I don’t need to continue living,” I said, flipping on the faucet. Water rushed into the tub—a relaxing sound in itself.
He sighed. “You have a point. But don’t take a shower. You shouldn’t be standing for any long period of time. Take a bath and don’t let the water soak into your wound. I’ll be out here if you need any help.”
I paused. There was just no way I could let that one go. “Would you like to help me bathe, Michael?”
To my amusement, he cleared his throat and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Not what I meant.”
“Honestly, it would make the entire experience more bearable.” I could feel the grin taking over my lips and didn’t fight it. Hell, it was the most fun I’d had in a while. Apparently, the new Michael could get flustered. Interesting.
He shot me an accusing look. “You really are shameless, aren’t you?”
Was it my imagination or was he blushing? Ha! “It’s all part of my charm.”
Michael shook his head and shut the door without replying. I allowed myself one small giggle before adjusting the water’s temperature and shedding both my clothes and the bandages.
As the tub filled, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. There was really only one word for what I saw: yikes. The stitches were still visible on my chest, where ugly mounds of light brown flesh had gathered around the wound. Whenever they came out, there would definitely be a large, jagged scar in its place. A ring of bruises marred my neck and a sizeable one peeked out from beneath my hair where my head had hit the wall in the alley. I felt another surge of anger towards Belial. It was one thing to hurt me emotionally, but the bastard had physically marked me. Gabriel said there was no known way to destroy a demon soul.
I was sure as hell going to find one someday.
With my hair down I looked a lot like my mother. She had been from Madrid while my father was black, origin unknown. That was just about the only thing I knew about my father. He’d left before I was born. As for my mother, she was an entirely different story. One I didn’t like to revisit often.