Chapter 18 Nyx #3
“Yeah man, see you tonight?” Thane’s rasping voice so close to my ear makes my skin prickle. Luther grunts and my eyes shift to him, locking with his for half a heartbeat.
Something sparks between us.
Something unspoken.
Something more.
He turns, but I can’t help following him with my eyes until he’s out of sight.
“I’m Dr. Araminta Mercer. Can you tell me your full name?” Her calm voice draws my gaze.
She’s pretty.
I’m delirious.
“Nyx Byrke,” I murmur.
“Thank you, Nyx. Do I have your permission for my intern to examine you with my supervision?” I wince when my eyes find his, looking down from where he stands above me.
There’s no trace of the arrogant asshole from the stairwell, or the entitled bastard by the lake.
I haven’t met this Thane before. He’s entirely focused me, close enough that I see the striations in his different-colored eyes.
The blue one flashes so quickly I almost miss it, and his throat bobs when he swallows.
“Okay,” I whisper, holding his gaze. He clears his throat, then starts going through concussion protocol.
“Do you remember what happened, Nyx?”
“Just another asshole trying to hurt me.” It comes out in another whisper, but this time my eyes water from the pain and the self-pity I’ve refused to acknowledge until now.
“Can you tell me where you’re hurting?”
“My knee and head.”
“Any other symptoms like nausea or dizziness?”
“Uh-uh.”
“I’m going to turn your head now to look at your injury. Relax your neck, if you can.”
“Okay.” He maneuvers my head and begins to pull my blood-matted hair out of the way, but the tangles snag and pull sharply against my scalp.
“Sorry,” he murmurs.
“It’s fine.”
“Thane, what’s your assessment?” Dr. Mercer asks.
“She’s still hemorrhaging, but it seems to be slowing down. It needs to be cleaned before I can determine the severity of the laceration and the appropriate method of closure.”
“Good. I suggest cooling the water in order to assist with swelling.” I feel the loss of his warm hands keenly. In the next instant, he presses his palms together and then slowly pulls them apart to reveal a small, swirling sphere of water.
It’s beautiful.
Light seems to sparkle in the center as he gestures with his fingers, and the ball comes closer. I can’t help but flinch reflexively.
“It’s okay,” His eyes lock on mine, and a moment later I nod. The shock of ice cold water against my scalp makes me grunt and tense, but his other hand moves from my head to my chest, holding me still.
I exhale sharply at his hot touch.
Something in my brain shifts when his large hand rests just below my neck.
Fuck.
My chest heaves as I inhale deeply, trying to keep from trembling.
In mere moments, the stinging, burning cut on my head begins to throb in time with my heartbeat, and I moan with relief when the worst of the pain begins to fade.
Our eyes meet, then his flick down when I lick my lips nervously.
Double fuck.
Dr. Mercer saves us from this hellish awkward tension. “Good. Given the size of the laceration, what method of closure would you recommend?” Thane gestures again and a stream of red-tinged water floats through the air before flowing into a sink in the corner of the room.
“Stitches and staples would cause unnecessary scarring. Tape would get stuck in her hair. It’s too wide for glue. Wielding would be the best option, I think.”
“I concur. Without blood magic, you’ll have to focus on the water content in the blood to identify the plasma, platelets, and blood cells: each one will feel different as your magic learns how to separate them. Start by isolating the platelets to promote clotting. Draw them towards the wound.”
He nods and closes his eyes, one hand still on my chest and the other resting on my head. For one fleeting, stolen moment, I take him in.
This Thane is focused. Determined.
Even if it is just an act because Dr. Mercer’s here, I let myself pretend it’s real.
Thane Rorvik, Heir of House Aquae, the World Snake, is taking care of me.
“Tingles,” I murmur as my scalp prickles.
“Well done,” Mercer says, and something twists in my stomach when his lips curve into a small smile.
It transforms him.
It captivates me.
When his eyes dart to mine, my own curl in response.
“Now, isolate the white blood cells and direct them to the wound site.”
Once again he closes his eyes, and my scalp itches.
“Excellent.” That same small smile appears, and my heart skips a beat—which, holy shit—he notices, if the flash of his blue eye is any indication. Because his hand has crept upwards from my chest, fingers resting against my jugular.
“Dr. Mercer?” a nurse calls from the doorway, startling us both. “We have a third-degree burn that just came in.” The doctor sighs, and looks to Thane.
“Can you handle the knee?” He nods, and she leaves without a second glance. He clears his throat after a moment of silence, but I interrupt him.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly, which seems to take him by surprise. Probably because the last time we spoke, he was a total fucking asshole. In light of all he’s doing to help me, I’ll let it go… for now. “I really appreciate it.”
His throat bobs again, but then he nods. “You’re welcome,” he finally responds in that low, rasping voice. “You’ll probably be tired for a couple days as your body catches up with the healing.”
“Okay.” The silence between us grow tense when he stands at my bedside, unmoving.
“So, my knee?” The ice pack has mitigated most of the immediate pain, thankfully, but it still hurts like a bitch
“Yeah.” He swallows thickly. His outstretched hand freezes when we both come to the same realization. “I’ll need to cut your pants off.”
He notices my hesitation. “We can wait for Mercer to get back. If you want.” he offers stiffly.
“No it’s—I’m fine. It’s fine.”
I’m a patient. He’s an intern, whatever that means here. The nice lady doctor trusts him. There’s no reason for this to be anything but clinical.
Except I notice the way his broad shoulders stretch the shirt tight across his back when he digs through a drawer, pulling out a pair of scissors.
When his fingers grip my ankle and he begins cutting, revealing more of my pale skin with every snip, I shiver.
I feel like a present being unwrapped as the ruined fabric falls away and his hand slowly trails upwards, carefully avoiding my very obviously dislocated kneecap.
When he reaches my waistband, it snaps back before I can cover my newly exposed underwear, but it’s a moot point.
He’s seen it. I know he’s seen it. He knows I know he’s seen it.
He gulps, throat bobbing before turning to put the scissors back.
Cool, I can pretend that didn’t just happen, too.
I startle when his hands settle on either side of my knee. “I’ll have to do what’s called a ‘reduction’, to put in back into place. It’s fairly straightforward.” I think he’s going to continue, but it seems he’s waiting for me to respond.
“I trust you.” He stills, searching my eyes for something I’m beyond understanding at this point.
“You shouldn’t,” he mutters before shaking his head. “Want a countdown?”
“Yeah.” If it works for ear piercings, it’ll probably work for this, too. Right?
“Three. Two—” pressure and sharp pain make me cry out until it fades just as quickly with a sickening pop. He rests his hand on my knee and closes his eyes much like he did when healing my head, and soon the pain ebbs until only mild soreness remains thanks to his magic.
“That was fucking dirty,” I whimper, hiding my grimace with my arm as the adrenaline from the last couple hours finally fades, leaving me weak as exhaustion takes its place.
“I need to check your range of motion, bend your knee for me.” He proceeds to fold and extend my leg up and down, side to side, then asks me to do it myself with his support.
Between drilling practice earlier, getting injured, and the magical healing, I’m trembling by the time he lays my leg back down on the bed.
All I want to do is sleep for the next three days.
Just as I uncover my eyes to ask if that’s even allowed, I feel his hand start to knead my tired muscles and groan softly in relief. I’m not prepared, though, to see him fixated on where his warm hands meet my cool skin—his one blue eye nearly glowing white in the low light.
I don’t know what he’s doing, but fuck does it feel good. Too good. It’s been months since I’ve been touched with any sort of kindness. Even the last time I hooked up with Cole, it was hard and fast and dirty. Just enough to fuck out our frustrations.
“So soft,” he whispers. The way he’s touching me now feels… reverent. Like I’m some delicate thing to handle with care as his fingers creep to the crease of my hip, brushing my hand still covering my underwear.
I should stop him.
I really, really should.
But I’m powerless to deny the way my body craves it.
So is he, if the rapid rise and fall of his chest is any indication.
Mine is, too.
With his other hand, he gently moves mine out of the way, letting out a ragged exhale at the sight.
I let him pry apart my thighs until they fall to the side of the bed, leaving me completely exposed.
Not once does he look away from where his fingers are gently rubbing the top of my slit through the thin fabric, trailing down to trace my entrance.
Inside. Inside. Inside.
He pulls it aside and taunts my entrance until a vicious need to be filled makes me pant in desperation, and he swipes his finger through my wetness.
But instead of delving deeper, he parts my pussy lips and traces the path to my swollen clit, and I gasp when he traps it between his two fingers and presses down in a maddeningly slow pace.
The eager, hungry part of me wants to demand what I need, demand that he fill me with those thick fingers until the burning stretch makes me forget my own name.
But I don’t want to interrupt the sanctity of this stolen moment.
Slowly, the pressure on my clit grows unbearable.
I can’t resist moving my hips in time with each stroke as he coaxes the mounting pleasure coiling in my pelvis tighter and tighter.
It’s so fucking good.
So, so good.
But it’s not enough. I’m still empty. And that—above everything else—feels wrong.
Inside. Inside. Inside. I don’t realize I’m chanting in hushed whispers until his fingers glide through my wetness and circle my opening once more.
Then finally—finally—his thick finger breaches my entrance.
The stretch of it, of him, makes my hips rise from the bed, seeking to take him deeper.
With his other hand over my pelvis, he pins me to the bed.
Then the finger inside of me pushes deeper and curls upwards at the same time he presses down with his palm.
I cover my mouth, stifling a moan of sweet agony as he torments my g-spot from the inside and outside.
Another finger joins the first, and the increased stretch makes my pussy tighten and clench.
This time, he’s reaching into the deepest part of me, brushing my cervix with his long fingers.
I jolt at the sensation, but that only seems to encourage him when he curls his fingers on the way out to rub my swollen g-spot, back and forth.
Through it all, he keeps staring at where we’re joined, as if nothing else exists beyond the sight of my dripping pussy swallowing his fingers.
Can’t say I disagree. I can hear how wet I am, feel my arousal dripping down my ass. Pressure begins to crest, and he must feel me tightening around him because he begins to pump in and out of my slick heat faster, harder, deeper, with the single-minded goal of pushing me over the edge.
His muscular arms flex as his thrusts grow more frenzied, and I can feel his hardness grind against my hip.
The evidence of his desperation is what finally brings me to the precipice of pain and pleasure.
With my other hand, I grab the arm pinning me to the bed—a prayer to end my anguish even as he ruins me.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper. “There. There there there don’t—fuck.
Oh God. Thane, please,” I choke out as the exquisite burn mounts higher and higher until it feels like he’s wrenching the orgasm from my body by sheer force of will.
Heat blooms as my pussy pulses, trying to keep him inside and sate the aching need to stay filled.
His low groan makes my skin warm even further as unbidden images play in my mind: him thrusting into my body frantically, desperately, filling me over and over again until our cum leaks from where we’re joined.
The thought of it almost makes me come again, despite the gentling of his fingers.
His blue eye is still gleaming when he pulls out completely and brings his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking off my cum.
The haze of pleasure fades as I watch him.
What… the fuck?
What just happened?
“Thane?” My whisper finally draws his attention from his fingers where my cum still drips down his hand. His blue eye no longer gleams.
I see the moment he realizes what we just did. Where we are. His eyes widen and he stumbles back, knocking down a tray of tools behind him.
And then he runs away. Leaving me in a cold, dark, empty room with shredded clothes, and a hollow pit in my chest.