Thunder and Lightning

As he stared down at the crimson river flowing along her ravaged flesh, a strange hissing sound welled from deep within him and seemed to lodge in his throat. Bev realized he was one of those sorts to have an adverse reaction to the sight and smell of blood.

She could cross “doctor” off the list of potential occupations for her gorgeous neighbor.

“You’re going to need a bandage for that,” he said in a tight voice. He seemed to have trouble breathing.

Bev nodded absently as she pulled her hand from his—more so because his touch did unexplainably riotous things to her clit—and pressed the sliced appendage to her stomach, where she clutched the taupe-colored, linen material of her dress. Ruining it.

“Maybe stitches,” he said as he took a step backward.

“No,” she was quick to say. “It’s not that bad. And I…heal…quickly.”

His eyes narrowed on her a moment, but it was as though her words barely registered in his mind. The black eyes that captivated her so shimmered with a strange backlighting—an internal light she’d never seen before.

Couldn’t attribute it to the moonlight, because it was basically scarce. And the low wattage of the triple-globed porch lamp didn’t emit enough light to reach them this far away.

As her mouth gaped at the mysterious phenomenon, his head snapped away.

To break their visual connection? Or was it the sight of her blood that disturbed him?

Bev’s insides coiled tight at the peculiarity of the moment. But Cane quickly composed himself and turned back to her.

“Bandage,” he reminded her. “I’ll take care of this stuff.” He knelt down to collect the spilled contents of the grocery bag, managing to scoop them up in the portion of the bag that was still intact. He stood and stared at her.

“Seriously,” he said, his voice tight and somewhat contrite, as if he was appalled by his initial reaction to her fresh wound. “Let me help you.”

She nodded.

Though she felt foolish because of her clumsiness, she was mostly alarmed that her own response to the cut might be questionable. Not that Cane would ever suspect the truth about her. Still. The secret of her immortality was one she held close, for with the promise of an eternal existence came the threat of imminent death if anyone should find out her true identity.

One of the rules of the game that kept the order in the land of the supernatural.

She’d played along for centuries, t

hough. Knew how to act mortal.

Wincing from the “pain”, she turned to the house and rushed up the stairs of the wraparound porch. Cane was hot on her heels and reached around her to open the door. Inside, Bev hurried to the kitchen sink and washed the blood from her hands and wrists.

But… Damn! She didn’t have any bandages or antiseptic. What the hell would she need them for, anyway? She healed a million times faster than the infected finger in the Neosporin commercial.

Wrapping a dishrag around her hand, she turned back to her neighbor and lied.

Double damn.

He was concerned about her and all she could say was, “I’ve got a first-aid kit upstairs. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll get the rest of your groceries from the car.”

“Thanks.” She dashed out of the kitchen and up the two flights of stairs to her room. Once there, she glanced around frantically.

What to use to cover her hand so that he wouldn’t see she was no longer bleeding? That the cut was already beginning to heal, the skin already sealing? Her gaze landed on the blue painter’s tape she’d been using this week to block the far wall before she rolled a fresh coat of “Yellow Daisies” over the boring off-white color currently making the room too stark for words.

She grabbed a couple of tissues from the bathroom, folded them in half, then used the blue tape to secure them in place over her palm. Groaning at the makeshift bandage, she wondered how in hell she’d survived everyday mishaps without drawing suspicion from her last roommate.

Oh yeah. She and Camden Shelton had both worked fourteen-hour days to get ahead in their respective careers—one of the many she’d had over the decades—and barely had time to share everyday life, let alone mishaps. As was the case with all of her previous companions.

Changing into shorts and a T-shirt, she returned to the kitchen and found all of the perishable items stored in the refrigerator. But the granite-topped island was covered with household stuff Cane clearly didn’t know where to stow. The offensive knife lay in the sink, washed of all blood.

And the knight in shining armor looked more on edge than before.