My watery eyes widened as I stared at him. “You did not just say that. What the hell is going on? Is this all some weird pain-induced hallucination? If so, why the fuck am I hallucinating Austin of all fucking people?”
“My God, even half-dead and pinned down like a butterfly on a board you still don’t shut up. Okay, how is this going to work? I obviously need to remove these knives before you can heal those wounds, but you have so many other ones right now that aren’t healing...” His sharp green gaze ran all over me like he was making a mental checklist of all my visible injuries. I figured it wasn’t necessary to tell him about the broken ribs or internal bleeding; the skin around his eyes was already pinched tight in a way that betrayed far more concern for my well-being than he was letting on.
“Uh yeah, so this stupid dick let me heal a drowning victim, so I’m practically running on empty.” I narrowed my eyes at him in accusation, and he snorted, clearly understanding I was kidding. Given that same situation, I would still heal the drowning victim, even knowing it was a trap.
“Oh yeah, wonder who that was. So you need to recharge before you can heal?” he asked, and I rolled my eyes in what I hoped was a mocking sort of way and not like I was trying to mask the bubbling cauldron of emotions threatening to boil over any second now.
“Do I need to repeat myself again?” I parroted his statement from earlier in the evening when I’d been the one repeating things I already knew. Hopefully he understood my unspoken message. Keep being normal. It’s the only thing holding me afloat right now. Snap at me or insult me or something, but don’t make me cry again.
Austin’s jaw tightened, and he brushed a finger up my side where blood was obscuring the gorgeous fox tattoo he’d inked into my skin just weeks ago. Shockingly, even through the pulsing pain throbbing through my entire frame, I could still feel the tingle of desire that chased his fingertip across my skin.
His white shirt was still wet and translucent, clinging to his muscular frame. I wasn’t an idiot, nor was I blind. Of course I was attracted to him. I’d been trying to deny it, thinking he hated me, but I was beginning to think it wasn’t totally one-sided.
“All right. Try to contain your revulsion. The guys are still MIA, and Wes is too far away to get here in time. I’m all you’ve got.” His attention remained on my blood-covered tattoo while he spoke, which was probably a good thing. If he’d have been looking, it would have been painfully clear how okay with this situation I really was. Not the magic, although I needed that. But, if I was totally honest with myself, I wanted him.
“I’m sure we can both survive a quick makeout,” I suggested, schooling my features into careful indifference before he looked back up to me. Hopefully if any lingering desire still showed in my face, he’d mistake it for pain.
Grunting a noise of agreement, Austin shuffled closer to me on the bed and slid a hand over my bruised face to cup the back of my head where my hair was—so far—free of blood.
“Let me know when you’re feeling strong enough, and I’ll pull the blade out,” he advised me, bending low and hovering his lips an inch above mine. “I don’t want to yank it out too soon and have you fighting the blood loss as well.”
“Makes sense,” I breathed, then leaned up and closed the gap between us.
The second our lips touched, it was like two sides of a magnet finally meeting. Our mouths locked together with an intensity born of blood and hate and sexual desire gone too long unacknowledged. Austin held firm to the back of my head, pressing me closer to him as his lips teased mine apart and his tongue invaded my mouth, meeting mine and wrestling for control.
Magic flared hot between us, sparking and tingling as it rushed in to fill the empty void that was my own magic store. The added sensation of magic passing between us flushed me with heat, and I moaned against Austin’s mouth. My hands lifted from the bed where they’d been lying limp and useless, and I clutched weakly at his strong back while his lips laid claim to my own.
Another strong pulse of magic shot through me as my hands found the tail of Austin’s wet dress shirt, slipped beneath it, and came into contact with his hot skin.
“Now,” I gasped, feeling the blade in my gut tugging and pulling as I tried to get closer to him.
“Are you sure?” he asked, pulling back from my lips and meeting my eyes with a serious frown, but I nodded.
“Yes, now,” I gasped. “But do it quickly, for the love of God.”
Austin didn’t hesitate again, simply tightened his jaw, grabbed the hilt of the blade, and wrenched it out of my flesh.
“Fucking cocksucking motherfucker!” I screamed, clutching my hands to the wound gushing blood from my middle. “Ugh, you ass fuck, you couldn’t have been more gentle?”
“I love when you thank me for things,” Austin remarked in a sarcastic voice. “Move your damn hands so I can see the wound.”
Reluctantly, I peeled my hands away from the stab wound, which was bubbling with blood now rather than gushing. I still had on my lace corset though, and I could see the ragged edges of fabric dipping into the gaping wound. Austin must have seen it too because he used the blade he’d just pulled from me to slice the flimsy lingerie clean off me. Cool air met my skin, making me shiver and drawing my attention to the fact I was now naked except for a micro-thong and several gallons of blood. Oh, and two more fucking knives sticking out of my thighs.
“These too?” he asked, nodding at the remaining blades, and I nodded.
“Yep, just... give me a sec.” I sucked in a few deep breaths. That tiny bit of magic restored to my body was also bringing back the pain of all of my injuries, and I could feel myself going lightheaded.
“On three, okay?” Austin said in a grim voice, wrapping a hand around each blade in order to pull them simultaneously. “One—”
That motherfucker! Of course he fucking yanked them on one. If I hadn’t been hollering in pain, I would have been cursing him black and blue.
“Such a baby,” he snickered, tossing the wet blades aside and trailing his eyes up the length of my naked, blood-soaked body, skating politely past my tits, which were literally heaving as I frantically sucked in breath to try and quell the pain. “You’re still bleeding,” he observed with a softness in his tone that bordered way too close to caring for my liking.
“No shit, Sherlock,” I snapped, not willing to let this moment turn tender.
Sarcastic and bitchy, I could do. Lust, attraction and sex, they were all easy. But concern, caring, and gentleness were nothing more than a gateway into mental breakdown territory. Now was not the time.