Chapter 40
FORTY
EMMA
We tumbled hard into his room, crashing onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and blood. The metallic stench hit me first; thick, choking, everywhere. My hands were already on him, slipping against the slick mess soaking his skin.
“You idiot!” I yelled, sounding almost hysteric. “You ever heard of bullets killing people? Or did you think that was just some fake news you could pretend didn’t apply to you?!”
I was so angry I could barely see straight.
Caden hissed through his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut as I pressed against his side, searching. “You mean as opposed to translating beneath a bubble?”
“Oh, don’t you dare start with me,” I spat, my fingers probing through the blood. “I don’t remember asking for a human shield.”
“Fucking hypocrite,” he muttered, voice taut with pain. “You fucking sacrificed—"
“Shut up!” I snapped, as my fingers prodded his side.
“Fuck! Where is it?” My breath came in ragged bursts, my hands slick and trembling as I searched for the source.
Blood coated everything, my fingers, his chest, the floor.
It was everywhere, and I couldn’t tell where it began or ended.
“I can’t see where it starts!” The edge in my voice cracked, frustration and panic bleeding through anger, bile clawing at my throat.
“Emma.” Hearing my name cut through the fear clouding my head. “Look at me.”
I dragged my gaze up and met the calm in his. His jaw was locked, face carved tight with pain, but his tone stayed maddeningly level. “I’m not dying. But I am in immense fucking pain. So if you could set aside the panic for one second and tell me what you need to fix this, that would be great.”
I inhaled hard, forcing air into my lungs until the blur around me sharpened into focus again. “There’s too much blood,” I said, barely calmer. “I can’t see the wound. I need to wash it clean, then get the bullet out and heal the damage.”
After a quick exhale, I commanded, “You’re getting under the shower. Now.”
He gave a short nod as I hauled him upright. My pulse thundered while I dragged him toward the bathroom, half supporting, half shoving.
The moment we crossed the threshold, I ripped off his shirt. His usually tanned skin was pale beneath the gore, muscles trembling with the effort of staying upright. I didn’t bother stripping the rest. I shoved him beneath the spray and twisted the faucet with a flick of my wrist.
The sound of the water filled the room as the blood poured off him in thick rivers down the drain. It felt endless, like he was bleeding out in front of me, piece by piece.
Calm down, Emma. You’ve got this.
Finally, the torrent thinned, revealing pale flesh beneath. The wound surfaced, a dark puncture below his ribs, small but vicious.
“There it is,” I muttered, annoyed as hell at the man before me. “You stupid, reckless bastard.”
My golden haze flared bright and hot around my palms. I pressed one hand near the wound, the other hovering an inch above. “Hold still. I need to find this bullet before I can fix you.”
“Didn’t realize you were such a surgeon,” he managed, breath ragged.
“Didn’t realize you were so suicidal,” I bit back, still shaking with rage.
I locked down, threading my haze like a scalpel into the torn flesh, mapping damage with clinical precision, finding the metal lodged deep, scraping muscle with every shallow breath he took. I clenched my jaw and pulled.
Caden hissed, his hand slamming against the tile, his head folding forward as the bullet slid free. I caught it, then translated it away.
No relief. Not yet. I shoved my golden energy through his veins. I traced every tear, sealing ruptured vessels, knitting muscle, patching whatever I could.
My haze burned into the wound, forcing torn muscle to obey until the edges dragged together under my hands.
He groaned, almost animal-like, as if the pain had stripped him down to something older and rawer.
My lungs burned and my vision blurred, but I kept pushing until the wound closed beneath my hands, until the blood slowed to a fickle, and then to nothing. Until I could feel him stay.
When I finally let go, I sagged against him, chest raw, forehead resting against the slick plane of his shoulder. “Done,” I whispered, shredded by effort. “You’re okay now. You’re—”
“You did it,” he muttered into my ear, his voice low and rough.
I kept my fingers pressed to the faint glow of the scar under his ribs. “Don’t ever make me do it again. I mean it, Caden. You jump in front of me again, I’ll shoot you myself just to prove the point.”
He let out half a laugh, half a groan. “I love it when you threaten me.”
I looked up, hair stuck to my face. “Congratulations,” I said dryly. “You survived your own stupidity.”
But my hands betrayed the lecture.
They drifted, on their own, lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, following the sharp line disappearing beneath the V of his pants. His body twitched where my fingers crossed that boundary.
Caden’s breath snagged as his hand shot up and closed around my wrist. His grip was firm and shaking, not to stop me but to steady himself, as if restraint cost him every ounce of control he still had left.
My gaze followed the line of his body, down to where water poured over him, washing crimson into rivulets that swirled toward the drain.
The outline of his suddenly hard cock straining against his blood-soaked pants was impossible to miss this close.
“You’re hard,” I whispered, my eyes locked on the thick length. The sight alone made my throat go dry.
A low growl vibrated from deep in his chest. “You’re touching me,” he grinded out, like it was explanation enough.
I swallowed, forcing my trembling hand to stay steady as the last of my golden light spilled from my fingers into the torn skin of his abdomen, softening the jagged edges of the scar beneath his ribs. “To smooth it out,” I spluttered. “To make the scar less visible. Not to…pleasure you.”
He pinned me in place. “Bet I’d heal a hell of a lot faster if you did.”
I managed a scoff. “Fucking player.”
Caden released my wrist. “Says the woman who rode my dick last night like the godsdamn goddess of sex herself. Consider it a fucking miracle I haven’t come in my pants yet.”
I pressed harder against his already healed wound, pretending it was intentional, like I wasn’t unraveling with every second. “You talk too much.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper that brushed my skin. “And you tremble too much for someone who isn’t turned on.”
Damn him. I was trembling.
My hand drifted lower, almost without thought, traitorous in its own hunger. His cock pressed thick and swollen against the damp fabric, and I was…fuck, I was dicknotized. My fingers twitched like they had a will of their own.
I grazed him once—maybe by accident, maybe not—and his groan tore out, vibrating straight through me. “For fuck’s sake.”
The sound set me off. I did it again, slower this time, trailing along the rigid length beneath the cling of his pants. His cock jerked hard under my touch, heat searing through my fingertips.
When I finally looked up, his eyes were already on me, dark and starving, chest rising quick and uneven, his breath a ragged rasp in the steam-heavy air.
“If you’re gonna touch me like that,” he growled rough enough to scrape, “you damn well better finish what you start.”
I arched a brow, meeting his challenge head-on, and slid my fingers to his waistband. One button, then the next, until the fabric gaped. I peeled it open, tugging enough for his cock to spring free, thick, and flushed.
Fuck me, it was huge.
Heat surged through me as I wrapped my hand around him, and his groan ripped out louder this time, sounding even more unrestrained.
“Fuck, Nightcrawler,” he rasped, his head tipping back, throat exposed as his chest heaved. “You’re gonna make me come in thirty fucking seconds.”
“Then I’d better make those thirty seconds count,” I purred, a wicked whisper of sin. Without breaking eye contact, I sank to my knees, the wet tile biting into my skin, while the steam wrapped around us like a shroud.
His eyes widened, his breath fractured into a throaty rasp, raw disbelief etched into every syllable. “The hell are you doing, pretty girl?”
I dragged my tongue over my lips, savoring the way his cock twitched at the sight. “Doing what I thought about for the last twelve hours.”
And then I took him in my mouth.
His feral hiss split the air, his hand shooting to my hair like instinct.
My lips stretched around the thick head, the salty taste hitting my tongue as I sank lower, taking as much of him as I could.
His groan rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating through me, his hips jerking forward before he caught himself.
“Fuck…” His voice was wrecked, gravel dragged over fire. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard, my tongue swirling around the sensitive underside. His cock throbbed against my tongue, every pulse feeding the ache between my thighs.
I pulled back just enough for my lips to drag along his length, saliva slicking his cock, before sinking down again, deeper this time, my throat straining around him. His curse shattered from his lips, raspy and broken.
“Emma—”
The sound of my name on his tongue, desperate and raw, had me moaning around his cock, the vibration dragging another violent shudder out of him. His abs tightened under my hands, his body strung tight like a bowstring, every muscle trembling with restraint.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, head tipping back.
I worked him harder, faster, my hand stroking what I couldn’t fit, twisting, squeezing in rhythm with my mouth. The obscene wet sounds filled the shower, mixing with his groans and the faint pound of water against the tiles.
“You look so pretty with my cock all the way in that tight little throat of yours.”
I was drunk on the taste of him, the heat of his skin, the weight of his hand in my hair.