Soulbound: A Lone Star Witch Novel (31 page)

I’m nervous though I don’t want to be. I tell myself it’s stupid, that Declan is trying to help me. And while I know it’s true, the memory of earlier is fresh in my head and I’m afraid. I don’t want to hurt like that ever again.

I do what he says, stretching out across my bed with my eyes wide open. I wait for him to do something, to murmur a spell or touch me or something, but for long seconds he just stands there. Eventually, he sinks to his knees beside the bed.

“Is this okay?” he asks as he reaches for my foot and gently rubs his fingers over my heels and arches.

Surprisingly, it is. “Yes,” I say, my body relaxing marginally.

“I’m going to try my best not to touch you,” he tells me, “but there are going to be times I have to. Tell me if I do anything you don’t like and I’ll stop immediately.”

I nod, and he lets go of my feet. Even so, I can feel him touching me, his hands skimming over my feet and shins and calves. A healing warmth flows through me and I swear I can feel the sore spots lessening a little more with each second that passes.

Eventually, he moves from my lower legs to my knees. Under his ministrations, the huge scrape on my left knee disappears, followed slowly by the bruise on my right. He moves up a little more, to my thighs, and I can’t help myself. I tense, lock them together.

His magic disappears immediately, along with the heat that’s been warming even the coldest spots inside of me. I’m instantly bereft and I turn my head so that our eyes meet, so that he can see I’m being truthful. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I know it’s you.”

Declan nods, reaches for my hand where it’s resting
on my stomach. “We can wait for those. Or, I can do everything but the bruises on your thighs. Whatever you’re most comfortable with.” He gently places my hand next to me on the bed.

And then the heat starts again, this time over my torn-up fingers and bruised wrists. He spends a lot of time on my scratched-up palms—especially the one that bears his mark—before moving up my forearms to my elbows and then my biceps.

I close my eyes as he works—it feels so good that I can’t stop myself from relaxing. From giving myself over to the tenderness I can sense coming off of him in waves. I know we have a murky past and that he’s the last person I should trust right now, but I do trust him. He came for me last night, then came for me again today. And now he’s giving me this incredible gift, taking away the pain I won’t let anyone but Lily see, let alone touch.

“Are you okay rolling over for me?” he asks softly, his mouth only a couple inches from my face. His exhalation tickles my ear and I shiver involuntarily. At the same time, the first sparks of something else—something more—kindle deep inside of me. After everything I went through tonight, they’re unexpected but not necessarily unwanted. Something good and right to chase away the dark abuses I want desperately to forget.

“Xandra?” he asks, and I nod, rolling slowly onto my stomach.

“If I’m going to heal the marks, I need to pull your shirt up. See what I’m dealing with. If you don’t want me to do that—”

“It’s fine,” I say. He is the one who got me out of the shower tonight, who dried my naked body without even thinking about making a move. I tug at my shirt, pull it over my head and then drop it onto the bed next to me.

He pauses for a second, like he’s collecting himself, and I worry that I made a mistake. That he’ll think I’m
too forward. But then his hands are on me. Not just his magic, but his actual hands, his fingers skimming over the Sebas magically tattooed into my skin. Except, after he traces two, he continues on to a third one.

“Declan?” I ask hesitantly, not sure I want to know the answer.

“Yes, Xandra?”

“How many stars are there on my back?”

He traces that last one again. “Three.”

“Last night there were only two.”

He doesn’t say anything for long seconds, just continues to stroke the same spot until the skin beneath his finger feels like it’s about to catch fire.

Deep inside me, the sparks glow more brightly, until it becomes a sweet kind of pain for me to lie here on the bed while Declan touches me.

“Relax,” he tells me soothingly, as he removes his fingers from my back. I arch a little in silent protest, and he whispers, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

I’d forgotten that was even a concern. “I know,” I whisper back.

I slide my hand along the bed until I find his, then tangle our fingers together. He squeezes me tightly and I swear I hear him murmur, “Thank you,” before he lets me go.

But I should be the one thanking him. I start to tell him that, but he chooses that moment to start in on my back. His magic moves through my aching muscles and it feels so good that my eyes nearly roll back in my head. The heat winds along the old and new whip marks alike and I feel them dissolve under the strength of his healing, until all that’s left is a pleasant warmth that turns me into a melted puddle of goo.

He skips back down to the backs of my thighs, and this time I don’t even think about protesting. Even when his hands skim under my shorts, over my rear, I don’t tense.
Don’t freak out. This is Declan. There’s nothing to freak out about.

When the last of the marks fades away, he starts to ask, “Do you want—”

I don’t give him a chance to finish, just flip over onto my back. My breasts are exposed, but then I kind of figured they’d have to be, though I hadn’t let myself think about it. Much of the damage that was done was to them, after all.

Declan inhales sharply, and a quick look at his face tells me it’s not a sexual thing—the look on his face as he examines my injuries is both fierce and sickened.

“I’m okay,” I tell him. “It isn’t as bad as it looks.” Which is technically the truth, I suppose. Since it’s worse.

“You can trust me, Xandra. You don’t have to put up a front.” He passes a hand over my hair and I have to turn my head away as tears burn my eyes. It’s ridiculous that I’m so emotional tonight, but the intimacy between us right now is overwhelming. I feel cracked open. Like every part of me is on display. In the morning, I may kick myself for opening up to Declan like this. But for now it feels right. Good. Like this is how it’s meant to be between us.

Declan starts at my abdomen, small little sweeps of heat that both ease the pain and fan the sparks inside of me, so that all I can feel is him. He skims up my rib cage, taking care of the bruising that has made it difficult to breathe these last three days before moving up to my breasts.

He’s not touching me, though if I close my eyes I can almost imagine that he is. That the moist line of fire that follows the bruising, bruising that imitates the knife slices on both Lina and the girl I found tonight, is actually his finger. Or even his tongue.

The thought has me gasping, arching, as I search for the reassurance of his hands. It’s ridiculous, and more
than a little embarrassing, that I’m getting aroused by the way Declan is touching me. I was so anxious at first and he worked so hard to set me at ease, that it’s hard to imagine that thirty minutes later I’m this needy.

He doesn’t seem to notice as he continues to ease the aches, even as he creates new ones. By the time he’s worked his way to my nipples, I’m all but panting for him. His magic slides over them and I gasp, tremble.

He pulls back immediately and I nearly moan in disappointment.

“I’ll stop.” His voice is hoarse, his breathing a little quicker than usual, and I realize he’s reacting to the vibes I’m throwing out.

“You don’t have to,” I tell him, shocked at the low, gravelly sound of my own voice. And at my own audacity, when I grab his hand and place it on the front of my thigh—the last place on my body that still has bruises.

“Are you sure?” Part of me thinks he’s asking about more than the healing, but that could just be wishful thinking.

“Yes.”

He swallows, then I feel him stroking me here too, his hands resting on my thighs, his fingers stroking the cuts from branches near the lake before moving on to the bruises that decorate my inner thighs. Bruises that look an awful lot like fingers from where that bastard held her down—

I cut the thought off before I can complete it. It doesn’t belong here, not now, not in this moment that is so pure and sweet and sexy. I want these moments with Declan, need them to finish wiping away the horror I saw—and felt—earlier tonight. When I think about my body, about sex, I don’t want to think about the sick perversions of a monster. Instead I want to remember the tenderness and light that is Declan at these most intimate moments.

Declan freezes when he reaches those bruises and I feel his rage break through the light, through the gentleness that he’s been showering me with. But I don’t want to lose it—lose him—so I grab his hands in both of mine and hold him still, hold him there, as my thumbs stroke over the back of his palms.

“I’m fine,” I repeat. “Don’t bring him in here with us.”

“He’s already here.” It’s more of a growl than actual words and I know I’m losing him to the darkness.

“No, he’s not.” I move his hands up a little until they’re only inches from the heart of me. “I need this from you,” I tell him huskily. “I need you to make me forget.”

Maybe it’s not fair, but at this point I’m so over fair. All I care about is assuaging the need Declan has built deep inside of me—the need for comfort, for passion, for him.

Declan’s not buying it though. He pulls away, scoots to the head of the bed until his face is mere inches from mine. Then he studies me, those midnight eyes of his probing at my own, prying open my every secret fear and desire.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, but eventually he must find what he’s looking for because he bends and presses soft kisses to my forehead and eyes before skimming his lips down my cheek and jaw.

“You have to tell me,” he says, right before he claims my lips in the sweetest kiss I’ve ever experienced. “I won’t take the chance of making a mistake with you.”

“I want—” My voice freezes in my throat. Normally I’m not shy, but for some reason I have a hard time asking this bold, beautiful, brilliant man for what I want. What I need.

I arch against him, try to show him with my body what I’m having trouble putting into words and he leans over me again, his mouth a mere inch or so from mine. “Do you want me to give you an orgasm, Xandra?”

“Yes.” Oh, goddess, yes. Please. I can’t remember ever being this aroused.

Declan doesn’t wait for a second invitation, instead he takes my mouth in a kiss that is a million times more potent than any we have ever shared before. He’s restrained, careful even, as his tongue coasts over my upper lip, then my lower one, before running along the seam between them. And still it’s too much.

I open to him as my body threatens to go into sensory overload. And then he’s kissing me, claiming me, his tongue sliding over and around mine. At the same time, he’s touching me with his mind, his hands—his magic—everywhere at once.

I feel his hands sliding over my legs—playing with the sensitive spots behind my knees at the same moment they tickle my toes and cup my rear. And his mouth, his wicked, wonderful mouth continues to torment my own, even as I can feel him licking at the hollow of my throat.

I arch and tremble against him, trying to get closer, trying to draw him over and inside me. But he isn’t budging, except to glide his mouth over to my ear. His tongue traces the delicate lower lobe of my ear—I can feel the warmth and wetness of it there as I clutch his silky black hair between my fingers. At the same time, though, I would swear his mouth is on my right nipple, drawing on the bud strongly enough to curl my toes and have me begging for release. Begging for him.

In the back of my head, I know what he’s doing. He’s using his magic to replace the killer’s, using his gifts to bring me pleasure instead of pain, so that I won’t forever associate the use of power with brutality. And while I can understand, and even admire, what he’s doing, there’s a huge part of me that doesn’t care. It’s the same part that’s going crazy at the scent and touch and taste of him.

“Declan, please.” I’m not above begging if it will get me what I want.

He reaches for my hands, entwines our fingers. Then sends his magic deep inside of me. I climax at the first thrust of it, and the feelings are so intense—so out of control—that for long moments I’m lost. Exhilarated and terrified and ecstatic, all at the same time. The only thing keeping me grounded, keeping me from flying apart at the seams, is Declan’s grip on my hands. His mouth at the hollow of my throat.

The reality of Declan keeps the fear in check, lets the joy soar through me unencumbered as my orgasm goes on and on and on. He keeps stoking it. Keeps pushing me higher and higher until I don’t know where his soul ends and mine begins. For someone who’s spent the last eight years going it alone, it’s a disturbing feeling. And also a tempting one.

When it’s over, when I finally come back down, I pull Declan onto the bed with me and try to give him just a little of what he’s just given me.

He stills my hands with one of his own, even as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. “Sleep, Xandra,” he murmurs, and I’m not even surprised to feel a blanket drifting slowly over us.

I want to disagree with him, to make love to him as he just did to me, but the last few days are catching up to me. Plus I’m cozy and warm and for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel safe. Really safe.

I drift off to sleep with Declan’s heartbeat strong and steady beneath my ear.

I
awake some time later to find Declan propped up beside me on an elbow. I’m on my stomach with my head turned toward him and my hand resting on his chest, like I need to be close to him, even in near unconsciousness. I’m not sure what that means, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me.

Still, I smile sleepily at him. He doesn’t return it. He’s too busy tracing the thin white lines on the back of my thigh, going over the freshly healed scars that replaced the branded-on circlet of Isis.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t remove it completely,” he says huskily, when he realizes I’m watching him. “But this should minimize your exposure to…
him
.”