I step out of the tub onto the plush carpet and grab the soft white towel from the hook beside the bath. Wisdom tells me not to test him, but I haven’t had nearly enough fun tonight.
Instead of wrapping it around me, I slowly begin patting myself dry—starting with my neck, then my breasts, then sliding it between my legs.
Henry tracks my progress with interest before he snaps out of his daze. “I should heal your ribs.”
The vanity counter is cold against my ass, and I shift back to lean on my hands. I intentionally leave my thighs spread. I don’t actually want him to fuck me, but I like knowing that he’s thinking about it.
Henry drinks me in for a long moment, like he’s saving this view in his mind for later. He mutters a curse and places his hand over the cut on my forearm.
My skin tingles pleasantly, then itches horribly. When he lifts his hand, there’s no trace of the wound. It stuns me every time. I wish I could place his hand over my mind and erase whatever ails me.
He gently moves his palm to my left ribs, prodding tenderly with hisfinger until I wince. “Two broken. You’ve felt it before. Bones are one of the most uncomfortable things to heal.”
I hum in agreement, closing my eyes.
The tingling healing sensation sinks through my skin, a cooling balm against the angry, heated pain in my side. Goosebumps rise on my skin, my nipples tighten, and I shiver. Then, the wretched itching sensation in my bones returns.
Henry senses it. “Distract yourself. Talk to me about something.”
I can’t look at him when I ask, so I just keep my eyes closed and head tipped back. “What happened when you died?”
I feel Henry still for a moment, and the itching seems to halt with that stillness, but it’s so quick I doubt myself.
“That’s too personal,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Even though my eyes are closed, I swear I can feel him looking at me.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Harlow.”
It may as well be a door slammed closed in my face. Stupid of me to ask. Now I’ve tipped my hand and let him know he has something I want.
The itching in my ribs is almost unbearable.
“You didn’t have to agree to take the blame,” Henry says.
I sigh. “Of course I did. I can’t help Aidia if I can’t help you.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, his thumb brushing lightly back and forth over my skin.
The itching finally ebbs as I blink my eyes open. “You can’t promise that.”
He looks at me like I’ve insulted him, which I suppose, by their cultural standards, I have, but the day I rely on a man to protect me will be my last. Even Gaven, who has literally saved me from the Drained and men alike on multiple occasions, can’t be fully trusted.
Henry steps back as if realizing that I’ve closed the door to any intimacy between us.
“You’ll sleep in my bed tonight.” He says it with a truly astonishing certainty for a man whose death I spent hours planning this morning.
“And be imprisoned by your snuggling again? No, I don’t think so. It’s been a long day and I need rest.”
His aura is wild, swirling around both of us. It’s always been uniquein both color and opacity, but now it’s blown out wide, filling the whole space. It’s such a deep, warm purple, as if he’s so angry, even his aura is smoldering with it.
He stands over me, all menace and desire and a cocky self-assurance. “You kissed me.”
“To shut you up,” I counter.
“You could have covered my mouth with your hand,” he says.
“My hands were bloody.”
