CHAPTER 15 #2
A tremble started in my legs, but I pushed forward anyway, determined to keep going.
The toilet flushed all on its own when I finished peeing, and the sink was automated too.
I made the mistake of looking up then, taking in the waif of a girl in the mirror.
Dark bruises ringed her big haunted eyes, her black hair matted in several places.
Her full lips were bloodless, her skin whiter than it had ever been.
But it was her shirt that grabbed my attention, filling me with horror.
It was red. Red when it should be white.
I lifted the hem, my gut twisting when more red greeted me underneath. The blood had long since dried, but it was caked to my skin, clinging to it, reminding me too much of death. Of how close I’d come to bleeding out.
The sight froze my insides, and I swayed again, nearly toppling over. I grabbed onto the counter at the last second, just as a voice from the doorway said, “You shouldn’t be up.”
I almost jumped out of my skin, whipping my head toward the door to see Thorne’s big body framed there. Taking him in, noticing the blood smeared on his pants, nervous energy made me shake even harder. Still, I rushed to say, “I can’t be late.”
His brows rose. “Late? Maybe you forgot, but you almost died last night. Look at you. You’re shaking so hard, you can barely stand.”
I straightened as best I could, hating that he was seeing me like this. Hating that I’d gone to him in the first place. Knowing that I’d be dead right now if I hadn’t didn’t make me feel any better.
“Who hurt you, Snowflake? I need to know.”
I blinked, caught off guard by his question, by the fierce gleam darkening his gaze. Swallowing, I replied, “I don’t know. I placed protections around my room to keep intruders out, but someone must have gotten inside and put a hex on my spellbook. One touch, and the cuts started forming.”
His gaze darkened even more. “Judging by how many cuts you received, it was more likely a curse. Such a malevolent act is prohibited at this school and punishable by expulsion. I won’t let them get away with it.”
Overwhelmed by not only the violence simmering in his eyes but in his voice now as well, I scrambled to think of some way to make him leave. The first thing that popped out of my mouth was, “I need to take a shower.”
He studied me for a beat, then moved. Not away but into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he made for the glass shower and switched it on.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, feeling my body tense all over. The bathroom had seemed huge before, but with him now in it, I was starting to feel claustrophobic.
“Helping you. There’s no way you’ll be able to take a shower on your own.”
I gaped at him, certain I’d heard wrong. He couldn’t have meant—
He whipped his t-shirt off and tossed it onto the counter, then tugged down his sweatpants. Before I could look away, I got an eyeful of his tight black boxer briefs and the giant mound of flesh they were barely containing.
My face burst into flames, and I tore my gaze away, saying with force, “No way. I’m not getting naked with you.”
“Relax, Snowflake. We’ll keep our underwear on. Now come here.”
“Not a chance in hell. I can do it myself, see?”
Ignoring the fact that I was about to expose my panties to him, I let go of the counter and shimmied out of my yoga pants.
But when I straightened, dizziness slammed into me again.
I reached for the counter and missed. As I plummeted toward the floor, arms appeared and smoothly scooped me up.
Finding myself pressed to Thorne’s bare chest and heading for the shower, panic tightened my throat.
“Thorne, put me down.”
He stepped into the shower and nudged the door shut. “Sure,” he said and set me down. I immediately tried to leave, but he blocked the door with his huge body and grabbed the hem of my ruined shirt.
“Thorne!” I squeaked, unable to hide the panic in my voice. “I don’t . . . I don’t have a bra on.”
Could I be any more weak? Pathetic didn’t even begin to describe me right now. This was almost worse than my walk of shame. It was worse. At least then I’d been able to mask my humiliation and fear.
But instead of ridiculing my weakness, Thorne’s expression softened, and he said, “I won’t look.”
Won’t look. Did I believe him? No. But at least he wasn’t making fun of or leering at me. I still had my bottoms on and so did he. Would it be the end of the world if he saw my breasts?
Yes.
When I didn’t pull away, he took that as consent and resumed lifting my shirt. His knuckles grazed my ribcage, and I sucked in a quiet gasp. Not because he’d zapped me—because he hadn’t—but because that swift yet intimate brush of skin on skin had just sent a thrill through me.
“Raise your arms,” he quietly instructed, and I found myself obeying. The shirt slid up and over my head, then landed with a plop on the floor. When my eyes flicked up to Thorne’s face, I found his gaze locked on my breasts.
“You looked,” I blurted, surprised by how breathless my voice sounded. Where was the annoyance? The anger?
“Yes,” he rumbled, continuing to study them. To caress them. “I’m a hot-blooded male. What did you expect?”
When he continued to openly take me in, goosebumps erupted over the sensitive flesh. My nipples hardened to rocks, and his eyes darkened. Not with anger. No, this was something new. Something that made my stomach clench with a thousand fluttering nerves.
“You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Snowflake,” he said, finally raising his eyes to mine. The emotion brewing in them hit me hard, stealing my breath. I tried to deny what I was seeing, tried to convince myself that my inexperience was playing tricks on me.
Because there was no way in hell that Thorne Hudson would look at me with desire.