WE RODE FOR OVER AN hour with my body pressed up against his. I managed to hold on to the metal bar on the back for about five seconds before giving in and putting my arms around him. Jasper rode his bike like it was glued to the road and when he took the first bend and our knees nearly kissed the pavement, I grabbed for him. I was pretty certain he’d done it on purpose when I heard his chuckle. Asshole.
My palms flat against his stomach, I felt the deep contours of muscles, ridged and hard. I swallowed and tried to think of something else, anything else, but nothing came to mind except the feel of him beneath my hands. His ass and my pelvis snug, the vibration of the bike under us.
I clenched my elbow hard against my side where the bullet had penetrated and grunted in pain. Much better. Pain I knew. It was familiar and I knew how to handle it. What I was feeling for Jasper was new and exhilarating and had no place in my life. I had to control my emotions, and Jasper made them snap and crackle.
Jasper slowed after twenty minutes and we cruised along the winding roads of Andalusia, Spain. I relaxed a little, my arms resting lightly around him as the wind brushed through my hair, the woodsy scent of the piqual olive trees and the warmth of his body close to mine.
He was so casual, easily maneuvering the bike with an air of confidence as if nothing could throw him off-balance. And I knew that was what attracted me to him—that inability to be agitated. The control. It was also what made me uneasy because my usual knack to keep others at a distance wasn’t working with him. Jasper didn’t treat me like I’d shatter; instead, he pushed me to the edge.
The warmth of his hand on my naked thigh made every muscle tighten and my breath hitch. A quiver travelled through me then goose bumps spread. The heat from his hand seeped into my cool skin instantly soothing.
In a slow casual glide, he slid his hand down to my knee, cupped it, his fingers squeezing then moving back up again. My heart went from one beat per second to ten while my murdered butterflies resurrected.
I was determined to ignore him and it wasn’t as if I could get away either, or push him off me. I suspected he knew it, too. He had to know exactly what he was doing and I was pissed off that I was pissed off. That he could easily throw me off with a simple touch of his hand.
I clamped my teeth together and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to ignore his soft caress. Instead, the image of him on top of me as he thrust flashed and I quickly opened my eyes again.
I couldn’t take it anymore when his finger stroked the sensitive spot beneath the crook of my knee and a tidal wave of desire hit me.
My hand shot to his wrist and I latched on then pulled his hand off my leg. He didn’t object, merely placed his hand back on the handlebar. I took a deep breath and my erect nipples pressed into his back. The bike jolted forward and the corners of my mouth twitched.
We rode for hours giving me plenty of time to contemplate what I was going to do. All I knew about Jasper was that he was an assassin and a friend of Xamien’s. Although, I was leery of calling them friends, as according to rumors, Jasper didn’t have friends.
I’d managed to stay clear of any business regarding the Scars until six months ago when I’d met Jasper. He’d been at Xamien’s to help with a situation involving the Scar Delara.
It was the first time I’d met the Taldeburu, Waleron, who lived in Toronto. He sat on the council with the Wraiths and he was known to be cold, unemotional and would do anything to protect the Scars. He also had an Ink that had tried to take control of him.
That was when Waleron found out I had the ability to communicate with a Scar’s Ink. What no one knew, and what was imperative to stay that way, was that I had the unheard of ability to bring a dead Ink back to life.
I’d kept it from Drake for six years. He never knew I could’ve healed his Ink and then his failing lungs would’ve repaired with his Ink’s rebirth. But I knew the consequences if I’d done it.
Drake had killed my entire Talde just for my ability to heal his lungs. If he knew I could heal his Ink, an Ink the Goddess had killed because of how dangerous it became, Drake would stop at nothing to find me again and that sat in the pit of my stomach every day since. My only hope was that he was dead. That his lungs had finally given in to the blackness that suffocated them.
But Drake was one of the original Scars, older than Waleron, who was known as the most powerful Scar alive. He was determined and sought to one day either rule or destroy the Scars.
Jasper suddenly veered off the paved road into a parking lot and pulled up to the front door of a bungalow-style building then stopped, letting the engine idle for a second before he shut it down. I glanced over at the tilted half-lit flickering sign on a metal post that occasional flashed hot tub in Spanish and English. Below that, it read vacancy.
I settled my hands on his hips while I got off the bike and winced at the sharp pain in my side. I stood facing him, arms crossed over my chest. “What is going on? Who’s after me?”
There was something behind his dark eyes, a merciless hardness that even when he flashed that cocky grin, it was settled there like a speck of wet sand in the desert. “Don’t know who, but Xamien will be calling tomorrow and you can ask him, although I doubt he knows either. Right now, I’m tired as hell and need a bullet out of my thigh.”
“Why should I stay with you?” Although, at the moment I had no place to go, no money and I certainly couldn’t go back to Xamien’s.
He shrugged. “Because you want to live a few more days.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pile of bills. “Go, get us a room. They’re more likely to ignore the blood on you rather than me. We don’t need added attention.”
“Two rooms you mean.”
Jasper frowned then got off the bike, grabbed my wrist, shoved the money into my palm and closed my fingers around it. “No, babe, one. You get two, you’re wasting my money ‘cause you’re in my room tonight.”
I wanted to throw the money back in his face; instead, I crumpled it in my fist and glared back at him.
“You waiting for a kiss or a smack on the ass? Both are up for grabs, sunshine.”
I didn’t think I was capable of a girl growl, but I made some kind of noise that came from the back of my throat and Jasper heard it because he laughed then leaned back, resting on his bike, ankles crossed.
Then I spun around and walked into the office where I procured two rooms. When I came back, I tossed him a key with the little yellow tag that displayed the room number then reached into his bag, grabbed my blades and proceeded to my room which was right next door to his. I was hoping that would make him more willing to bend on the issue because I wasn’t sharing a room with him. Shit, he was a Sounder and could hear my heartbeat from next door if he wanted to.
I just put the key in the lock when I was suddenly airlifted and thrown over a shoulder—Jasper’s shoulder. And damn if it didn’t bring tears to my eyes as I landed hard and it felt as if someone punched me in my wounded side.
“Told you how it was going to be. Should’ve listened.” He carried me next door, stuck the key in the lock and then opened it. He slammed it shut with the heel of his foot, walked into the room and tossed me on the bed.
The mattress squeaked as I bounced on it a couple times when I landed. I quickly turned over and crawled to the opposite side of the bed, and scrambled to my feet.
“Not chasing you, Max.” It was the first time he’d used my name and I hesitated. “Sit your ass down.” His words were like rocks banging together and his stance was wide, ready to make a grab for me if I even tried for the door. “I’m going to clean that wound on your side then you’re going to heal my leg that you so kindly put a bullet in. After that, we’re both getting some shut eye.” He crossed his arms over his naked chest. “In this room. Together.”
I looked down at the orange and brown bedspread, hiding my anger behind my curtain of hair. He was really an asshole and normally I could escape from people, but I was being forced to deal with Jasper and any anger I’d kept locked away was bending the mental shield around me, ready to release all the rage I’d kept locked up tight since Drake.
He walked toward me, stopping inches away. Then to my surprise, he reached over and squeezed my waist. It was a gentle and reassuring gesture and so unlike Jasper. Our eyes stayed locked on one another for a few moments, before he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.
I considered running next door. I still had the key curled in my hand, but like I’d learned a long time ago, sometimes it was easier not to fight. I had scars to prove it.
When he came out again, he had a wet cloth in his hand. He strode over to a leather satchel by the door, unzipped it and sifted through until he pulled out a plastic bottle. He strode toward me, chest still naked, the vivid lines of his muscles speckled in dried blood. God, he didn’t have a single scar on his lightly tanned skin—perfect. The complete opposite of me.
I stiffened, sitting up straighter as I placed my hands on my scarred thighs. Then I lifted my chin and stared straight ahead.
It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered.
I don’t care.
He crouched in front of me and I heard the rustle of his pants and his mild grunt. Shit, now I felt guilty shooting him and I never experienced that emotion. I had no reason to—until now.
Jesus, he was screwing me up.
The crackle of a seal breaking sounded and I looked at the bottle in his hand—whiskey. This was going to hurt like hell and maybe that was exactly what I needed to get my shit together.
He shrugged. “It’ll have to do until we get to my . . . friend’s place tomorrow.” I didn’t like the sound of that. And he hesitated at the word friend and I was guessing it was because Jasper didn’t have friends; he had business acquaintances.
“A Scar?” I hoped not. I’d been able to keep my abilities hidden for years, but I was careful with who I encountered. Meeting Waleron a number of months ago had been a mistake and then Jasper had sensed I was a Healer. All it took was for one Scar to get into my head and find out I could give life to Inks and then word would spread and I’d be a liability.
“No. She’s human.” He reached for the hem of my shirt—his shirt—and I scooted back. His hand gripped my hip and held me steady. “Yeah, I want to fuck you, but right now, it isn’t about that. So you need to suck it up and let me do this.”
“I can do it myself,” I shot back and grabbed for the bottle.
“No you can’t.” He snorted. “Ironic the Goddess gave the ability for Healers to heal everyone except for themselves. A real fuck up if you ask me.”
The pads of his fingers heated my skin through the material and there was nothing sexual about it, yet it was everything sexual. My pulse pounded in my throat and tingles like shooting stars burst through me everywhere. It was unrestrained and I hated it. I shoved his hand off me then abruptly pulled up the shirt.
It was supposed to be one fluid motion. It turned into several when I had to lift my butt to get the shirt out from under me; then it stuck to the wound because of the dried blood and when it finally peeled away, it went too high revealing my abdomen and ribcage.
My eyes locked on his, but he didn’t say anything, merely kept his steady gaze on me. It was almost better when he did say something because then at least I knew what he was thinking.
He lifted the whiskey bottle and the pungent smell drifted into the air and burned the small hairs in my nostrils. “You want to lie down for this?”
I shook my head.
He nodded then titled his hand and I watched the amber liquid spill from the bottle. The second it hit my flesh, the fiery pain sliced through my side. I squeezed my eyes shut, tensing, but remained still.
After a few seconds, I opened my eyes as the pain dissipated . . . until he started wiping the dried blood away from the torn flesh. He was gentle, the corner of the warm wet cloth rubbing lightly over my skin.
He set the bottle on the floor and then put his hand back on my hip, his fingers steady and splayed over my skin. I was surprised he never once looked anywhere but at my side and what he was doing, his brows drawn together in a deep furrow of concentration.
I was contemplating thanking him when he said, “Might have avoided this if you hadn’t shot me and we got out of there sooner. Try and remember you’re a Healer and act like one.”
Asshole full on.
Jasper leaned back on his heels, pulled out a knife from his boot then reached for me. I didn’t move. I was accustomed to knives on my flesh and if he had to cut away or debride flesh, then it had to be done. My fingers curled into the bedspread and I couldn’t stop the sharp inhale as he came closer with the knife.
Instead, he pierced it through the cloth and ripped it in half then poured whiskey on it. Without warning, he dug the piece of soaked cloth into my wound.
“Jesus.” My vision blurred and I would’ve been halfway across the bed if he hadn’t anticipated that reaction and clamped down hard on my thigh.
“You don’t like it, don’t get shot next time.”
I bit my lower lip hard to keep myself from saying something back. Don’t let him make you react.
By the time Jasper finished cleaning the wound, it was pretty numb. He poured more whiskey on it then got up and went to his bag.
I think the only way I got through it was repeating over and over in my head what an insensitive bastard he was. But he was right. I should’ve been more careful and I wasn’t sure what pissed me off more, that I hadn’t been or Jasper’s comment. I decided to focus on Jasper’s comment because he was being a dick and I was betting most chicks fell at his feet and spread their legs as soon as he smiled at them.
“Go shower and then I’ll bandage it.”
I was going to tell him I’d heal his leg first so I could get it over with and then decided he could suffer a little longer. I scooted off the bed, went into the bathroom and shut the door. I searched for the lock—no lock.
I paused for a second remembering when Jasper walked in on me before. The way his eyes roamed over me as if I was . . . like he wasn’t repulsed by my scars.
I sharply spun away from the door, avoiding the mirror as I took off my clothes, and then turned on the taps. The bottom of the tub looked like it had a ring of dirty soap scum around it, but I hadn’t much of a choice. I stepped under the spray, tensing a few seconds as the water hit my wound and then grabbed the motel’s cheap packaged soap off the ledge. I ripped off the paper and quickly scrubbed myself. My hair needed washing to get rid of all the dust from the road, but the motel had no shampoo or conditioner and I was forced to use the soap.
I finished up and had one leg out of the tub when the door opened. I grabbed the edges of the shower curtain and pulled it around me.
“Clothes,” he said and placed a pile down on the counter. He smirked at me. “Might get in the habit of locking the door.”
“There is no bloody lock,” I shouted. I froze, realizing I’d shouted. God, I hadn’t shouted since . . . since Drake cut it out of me. I wasn’t allowed to shout or scream or fight.
He lifted his hand and wiggled the gold sliding latch at the top of the door. Shit. Who puts a lock there? “If you want me to see you naked, all you have to do is ask, sunshine. I’m a pretty straight forward guy. Don’t need the games.”
Games? He thought I was playing games? I wish like hell I could easily lower my head and say ‘yes, sir’—but I couldn’t. Jasper riled me way past that ability to keep my mouth shut. “Get out!”
He chuckled and nodded to the shower curtain. “Orange doesn’t really suit you. I’d stick with reds. You look fuckin’ beautiful in red.” What? He’d never seen me in red. “I’m thinking spiky black heels too. Maybe we could pick some up and—”
I picked up the bar of soap, but before I could throw it at him, he was gone. I was so angry with myself for rising to his words. He was enjoying himself watching me flounder and I had to get my shit back in control then call Xamien and find out what was going on. Then I had to get as far away from Jasper as I could.
I left the water on straight hot as I dried off, and by then, the entire bathroom was in a dense fog of heat. I pulled on the over-sized V-neck shirt he left me—his. I lifted the boxer shorts into the air—his. I felt the small pull upward at the corner of my mouth as I stared at them. He expected me to wear his boxers? I glanced at my shorts covered in my blood and then back at the boxers.
The thought of wearing his boxer shorts . . . How they had been next to his thighs, had his cock brush against the material . . .
Stop.
I yanked them on, rolled them at the top so they would stay on my hips and then went and turned off the hot water which wasn’t hot anymore. I came out of the bathroom and stopped. Jasper was leaning back against the headboard, arms crossed behind his head while he watched some Spanish news channel on the television. He looked like a king, confident, casual and completely ignored me.
I made it to the side of the bed and sat before he said anything.
“Long shower.”
I shrugged. No doubt he knew exactly what I’d done.
“Don’t worry. I thrive off cold showers. And if I’m real cold, I’ll have you to warm me up.” Before I could come back at him with anything, he said, “You going to put those healing hands on me now? Been sitting here thinking about them touching me for the last hour you’ve been using up my hot water.”
“It wasn’t an hour.” My lips pursed together. I was not going to play into his hands. We needed some ground rules before I touched him. “No kissing me again—ever.”
He lowered his arms from behind his head. “Hey, I only take what wants to be given, sunshine. And I’m only referring to women. Anything else . . . I pretty much just take.”
Yeah, I was betting he took anything he wanted and didn’t think twice about it. “Well, I didn’t ask to be kissed.”
His brows rose. “Might want to rethink that answer because you’re lying to yourself and to me.”
I ignored him. “And you’re sleeping on the floor.”
He didn’t say anything, merely looked at me and damn it, I couldn’t tell what he was going to do. “You going to heal me or admire me?”
Clamp it down, Max. I took a deep breath, climbed up on the bed and crawled over to his wounded thigh. My eyes hit the slight swell in his pants between his legs.
He shrugged. “Out of my control, angel. Hot chick crawling on her hands and knees toward my lower region . . . it’s any man’s fuckin’ fantasy. Even better is one that you’re wearing my briefs.”
I gasped, sitting up straight, mouth falling open. Then I grumbled, “Boxers.”
He laughed, a sound which made my insides heat up and send that rabble of butterflies in my belly into a frenzy. Graveled and deep, like it came from deep within him, but never did the lighthearted sound match that speck of hardness in his eyes.
What sucked was I liked the sound of his laugh—a lot. Good thing he rarely laughed. His chuckle and grin I could handle, the laugh, not so much.
So I did what would end his laugh and pressed my hands hard on his wound. He stopped abruptly and scowled, muscles flexed. I glimpsed at his tats on his arms that were bulging with tension.
From what I’d heard about other Healers, they couldn’t touch anyone with a wound without their hands reacting. But I was different, I had to concentrate and focus on the healing and only then would it begin to take place. Sometimes, it felt as if I could do the opposite, take it away. That I had to tell my ability which way to go, heal or destroy.
Shivers racked through me as my hands burned, and I closed my eyes. The images came with the ability as did feeling the same pain as the person you were healing. I grit my teeth as the impact of the bullet slammed into my own leg. I let the pain in, sweep across me then pushed the feeling away. I knew how to block out pain, but I also knew how to embrace it.
My healing took hold as the burning increased in my hands and the images moved faster through my mind like a movie on fast forward. I thought of all the times I’d healed Drake, week after week for six years, healing his lungs so he could breathe. I knew it was because his Ink was dead. My mother had told me that before she died. The Goddess had killed his Ink to weaken Drake, and without my healing, he may not have died, but he’d be fragile.
He used to get so angry when the wheezing started only a week after I’d healed him, then the pain in his chest. The punishments were to make me try harder, to force me to heal his lungs completely, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t without healing his Ink at the same time and I’d never do that. He’d killed everyone I ever loved. And no matter what he did to me, I’d never fail my mother or the Talde. I’d never heal his Ink.
“Max?”
I jerked back. The heat in my hands and the images fading instantly. He reached for me and I shuffled back, quickly pulling my gaze from his. I picked up the bullet I’d extracted during the healing and Jasper plucked it from my grasp and shoved it in his pants’ side pocket.
“Why would you want that?”
Jasper swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Not often you get to keep the bullet you were shot with by a woman you’re going to fuck.”
I huffed. Then found myself staring, eyes wide and heart slamming against my ribs as Jasper undid the buttons on his pants and I caught a glimpse of the scattering of hairs that led downward like a pointing arrow. His pants dropped to the floor and he kicked them off his bare feet.
“Jasper, what . . .”
“I’m having a shower and I expect you to be here when I get out. You’re not . . . we have a problem and you won’t like how I solve it.”
I couldn’t stop staring. The contours of his thighs were like mountains with crevices in a valley, long, hard and firm. I had the urge to run my fingertips over them and . . .”Oh, God.”
Jasper stopped just outside the bathroom door and half-turned. “What’s wrong?” He was alert in an instant, eyes focused, body tense. I knew he had to be using his Sounding ability to search the area around the motel for any danger.
The funny thing was he was the danger.
“Nothing,” I squeaked and lowered my head. I peeked up at him just as his fingers went to the edge of his boxer briefs.
I swallowed. Froze. Then stared from under my long lashes as he bent over and yanked them off in one swoop.
Shit.
I caught a glimpse of his tight ass before he disappeared from view. Not because he closed the door, no, he left it wide open, but because he stepped behind the gaudy shower curtain.
I fell back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands. I was turned on. Hot, wet and throbbing. I was turned on by a guy’s legs and ass. But Jasper didn’t have just any ass; it was rock hard and round and curved perfectly into his sculpted thighs. This was mortifying. I was wearing his boxers, wet and feeling emotions I never knew I had. And the worst part was he knew it.
I’d never been concerned what others thought about my scars, but suddenly I was. Now it mattered. Now I wanted to keep myself covered from him and I hated feeling insecure about myself, but Jasper looking at my marred skin . . . it raised my awareness of what I looked like.
I heard the crinkle of paper and suspected he’d found the cheap soaps I’d thrown in the trash along with the one I used.
“Fuck, that’s cold,” Jasper shouted.
I bit my lower lip and smiled. I didn’t realize how good it felt to smile, how much I missed it until I did it. It was like I was lighter, warmer and the dredge of blackness faded for a single second.
Then I locked it away again. Because with one emotion came others. Others that would break me wide open.
I got up, yanked the comforter off the bed then threw a pillow on the floor beside it. I tugged back the white sheets, crawled underneath and curled on my side, my hands beneath the pillow. The sound of the shower mixed with the steady drone of a newscaster’s voice on the television lulled me to sleep within seconds.