Then again, I’m hardly thinking clearly at the moment.
“Sol.”
“No.” I shake my head and shove through the front door. “Not yet.”
Briar curls tighter against my chest. “Okay.”
We don’t see a soul on the trip to our bedroom. It’s just as well; I’m not certain what I’d do with this current mood riding me. I hate this. I don’t lose control. I definitely don’t misstep because of impulsiveness. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t knowingly do something to put Briar in danger.
Even from me.
Except that isn’t the truth, is it? Even as my surface thoughts say one thing, there’s a deep part of me that’s satisfied with the outcome of today. That loves the blended scents of our fucking. That’s soothed by the sight of my teeth marks on Briar’s skin.
I step into our bedroom and kick the door shut. “You will allow me to bathe and heal you.”
“Okay.” She sounds meeker than she ever has, a tremor in her voice that makes me want to hiss in rage. Except I can’t because I’m the one who put it there.
I close my eyes and strive to sound more normal. I’m only partially successful. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“I know.” The tremor is still there, but she sounds certain. “Truly, I do.”
That certainty eases me enough that I’m able to walk into the bathroom and set her down. I keep one hand on her waist, ready to catch her if her knees buckle, but she manages to keep her feet. The tub is tempting, but we’re both so covered in dirt that the shower is the better option. I turn on the water with one hand and then, as soon as it’s warm, wash her.
There are already bruises darkening her skin in a number of places, and several of my teeth marks are still bleeding. But, by the time I finish, she’s not shaking anymore. I wash quickly, hating the way my hands shake. It’s not worry. I’m barely holding back the need to be inside her again.
This is so wrong.
I turn off the water and wrap Briar in the fluffy towel she confessed to loving in her second week here. She starts to protest that she can walk, but the words die as I scoop her into my arms again. I lay Briar on the bed and push her thighs wide. She watches me with an unreadable expression as I reach for the healing balm. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.” I can’t stop myself from watching her face as I scoop up some of the balm and press it into her. She looks like she wants to keep her eyes open, but as I concentrate on coating the inside of her pussy with the balm, she lets her head fall back. Her lips part in pleasure.
It would be so easy to keep this up. I know how to make her feel good. When we’re fucking, she’s not thinking.
It’s the wrong thing to do.
Reluctantly, I finish applying the balm and ease my fingers out of her. Now’s the time to have a conversation, to talk through what just happened, but I can’t shake the fear that doing so means losing her. She’s already made her thoughts on pregnancy with me clear. I had no right to remove that pendant, and we both know it. Another pendant will ensure she doesn’t get pregnant from this encounter. But only if I hurry.
I shove to my feet. “Rest. I’ll be back.”
“Sol—”
I don’t remain to hear whatever she’s about to say. I might deserve whatever recriminations she sends my way, but at least if I replace her pendant, there’s a chance of seeing this through. Of making it right.
I charge down the stairs and practically rip off my study door. The sheer force startles me, and I concentrate on slowing down, on not upending my desk to find the scroll I use to communicate with Azazel.
There’s no reason to panic. I haven’t lost her. She’s right upstairs, and in a very short time, I’ll have made this right and we can go back to how we have been.
My writing is horrid, but I manage to scrawl out my request.
There was an incident. I need another pendant. Immediately.
I stare at the scroll, waiting for the reply. It never takes long. I’m still not certain if Azazel himself does it or if he has someone on staff in charge of this kind of communication. It doesn’t matter.
There is no response.
The seconds tick by into minutes. What the fuck is keeping him? I pick up the quill to write a second message when a shadow falls over my desk.
“What are you doing, Sol?”
I jump and then curse myself for jumping. Briar has taken the time to wrap herself up in the blanket she seems to favor the most when I’m not readily available to keep her warm. Is that a sign she doesn’t want me to come to her?