Floating in the center of the pool, a female was faceup on the top of the water, her naked breasts glistening, her nipples tight in the warm air, her head back.
"Fuck. "
Hard to know what made the bigger noise: his f-bomb or the Goose bottle hitting the tile floor. . . or the splash out in the middle as No'One jacked up and spluttered, covering herself while she tried to keep her head above water.
Tohr spun around and put his hands over his eyes -
On the pivot, broken glass sliced into the ball of his bare foot, the pain pitching him off balance - not that he needed any help with that, thanks to his having sucked face with the vodka. Throwing out a hand, he went to catch himself on the tile floor - and ended up slicing open his right palm as well.
"Fucking hell," he shouted, shoving himself free of the shards.
As he rolled onto his back, No'One scampered out of the water and dragged her robe around her naked flesh, that long braid swinging free as she jerked the hood into place.
With another curse, Tohr brought his palm up to check the injury. Great. Right in the center of his dagger hand, two inches long, and the bitch was a couple of millimeters deep.
God only knew what he'd done to his foot.
"I didn't know you were here," he said without looking up or over at her. "I'm sorry. "
From out of the corner of his eye, he got a visual of No'One approaching, her bare feet making appearances under the hem of her robe.
"Don't come any closer," he barked. "There's glass all over the place. "
"I shall be right back. "
"Fine," he muttered, as he brought up his foot for a look-see.
Fantastic - longer. Deeper. Bleeding more. And there was still bottle in it.
With a growl, he took hold of the little glass triangle and pulled the thing out. His blood on the shard was red as a blush, and he turned the piece from side to side, watching the light play through it.
"Thinking of taking up surgery?"
Tohr glanced over at Manny Manello, MD, human surgeon, mated hellren of V's twin. The guy had come with a first-aid kit, as well as his signature I-run-the-world attitude.
What was it with surgeons? They were almost as bad as warriors. Or kings.
The human crouched down beside him. "You're leaking. "
"No shit. "
Just as he was wondering where No'One was, the female came in with a broom, a rolling trash bin, and a dustpan. Without looking at him or the human, she began sweeping carefully.
At least she'd put shoes on.
Jesus Christ. . . she had been really fucking naked.
As Manello poked and prodded at the injured hand, and then started numbing and stitching, Tohr watched the female out of the corner of his eye - no direct viewing. Especially not after -
Jesus. . . like, really fucking naked -
Okay, time to stop thinking about that.
Focusing on her limp, he noticed that it was pretty damn pronounced, and wondered if she'd hurt herself in that great rush to get out of the pool and get clothed.
He'd seen her frantic before. But only once. . .
It had been the night they'd gotten her away from that symphath.