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“Why did Demetrius take you?” I asked with less rancor. “Does it have to do with your mysterious bloodline?”
As I watched his lips tighten in that familiar way, I knew I was right—and that he still wasn’t going to tell me what he was. Not part-demon, evidently, and I doubted he was part-Archon. If he was, Demetrius would’ve killed him, not raised him as his “son.”
“Your legs are injured,” Adrian stated, changing the subject. “Sit. I’ve got medicine in my coat.”
If they hadn’t been throbbing with pain for the past several minutes, I would have refused until Adrian told me the rest of what he was hiding. Since our car was busted and we probably had a long walk ahead of us, I sat, wincing when he pulled at the tears in my jeans. The wounds had already started to stick to the fabric.
After a few moments, Adrian let out a soft hiss. “Lots of gouges, and deep. Take your pants off.”
“Geez, buy a girl a drink first,” I said to cover my dread over how much that would hurt.
His lips curled as he retrieved a flask from his coat. “Ask and you shall receive.”
“You’ve had liquor on you this whole time?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I could’ve really used some, oh, every day for the last few days!”
I snatched the flask and took a gulp, welcoming the burn that made my eyes water, and forced a sputter after I swallowed.
“Not a bourbon girl?” Adrian asked dryly.
“That’s bourbon?” I let out a choking cough. “I thought it might be prison brew!” Still, I took another throat-scorching gulp. Beggars can’t be choosers.
His snort was soft. “No, but let’s just say the recipe doesn’t come from a normal brew company.”
“I’ll bet,” I muttered, then coughed out a protest when he took it from me. “Wait, I’m not done!”
“That’s much stronger than regular bourbon,” he said, putting it back in his coat. “Trust me, you’ve had enough.”
When he started tugging my jeans down, the pain shooting through me made me want to argue, but I didn’t. I hadn’t eaten in hours, and I didn’t want to add puking to all the other reasons why this night had been awful. Once my jeans were off, I stayed silent for a different reason.
Savage swipes had ripped open my flesh in at least a dozen places. I saw white in some of the gaping spaces, making my fear of vomiting a real possibility. If I’d been thrown into an angry bear’s den, I probably would’ve fared better. How had I managed to even stand with injuries like this?
I must’ve said that last part out loud, because Adrian answered me.
“Shock and adrenaline, plus your bloodline. You’re stronger, faster and tougher than you realize. You just didn’t know it before because you never needed to be.”
With that, he pulled a sealed plastic bag out of his coat. No wonder he’d made sure to grab it when we fled the car; liquor and medicine were necessities in any survivalist’s book, not to mention the Archon grenade that had made cloud-Demetrius scream.
If I’d known then what I knew now, I’d have savored that scream. His taunts about Jasmine tormented me, as he’d intended them to. If I had any confidence that a demon would keep his word, I’d be tempted to trade my life for hers. Finding the weapon and taking on Demetrius might get me killed anyway, and then my sister would really be doomed.
Adrian scooped out some of the bag’s contents, interrupting that bleak line of thought. The medicine looked like mashed-up macaroon cookies, and I tensed as he held that sticky mixture over the deepest gouge on my thigh. His eyes met mine, their silvery perimeter gleaming.
“Take a deep breath, Ivy.”
I did, and still almost screamed when he brought his hand down. The medicine hurt more than when Demetrius had made the wounds, but I bit my lip and didn’t cry out. Adrian was trying to help. The less I distracted him, the faster this would end.
I repeated that like a litany while he smeared the agony-inducing substance on all my deeper gashes. He worked with quiet efficiency, thankfully not commenting on the sweat that beaded my forehead or how my breath came in pants.
“Almost over,” he murmured in sympathy.
Something strange began to happen. The pain changed, turning into a tingling that reminded me of what it felt like when my foot fell asleep. Adrian finished with the final gouge and leaned back, watching my legs with an expectant expression.
The wounds began to close, expelling the now red-smeared medicine as smooth flesh filled in what had been gaping tears. Within minutes, the only marks left were shallower grazes that I could’ve made while shaving. I could hardly believe it.
“What is that stuff?”
His mouth curled. “Manna.”
Where had I heard that word...? “The mythical bread that fed the Israelites when they wandered in the desert?”
His half smile remained. “As you see, it has a lot of uses. Now, turn over so I can get the other gouges.”
I did, thinking it was a good thing that Zach had done my recent shopping. I normally wore thongs, but now, my ass was more modestly covered by bikini briefs.
Once I was on my stomach, Adrian’s large hand covered a wound high up on my hip. Though the initial pain was just as sharp, something else flared through me. Maybe it was because I knew the harsh sting would soon fade. Maybe the bellyful of superpotent liquor contributed to the urge I had to see his expression as he dragged his hand over my skin, or perhaps it was the way his touch seemed to linger longer than medicinally necessary.
I could’ve told him to stop. Insisted on dressing the wounds myself; I could reach them, after all. But I didn’t. He didn’t speak, either, and as his hands continued their path down my body, treating and then smoothing over newly healed skin, the pain was a price I willingly paid to keep feeling him touch me.
It was wrong, of course. I kept telling that to my rapidly beating heart and the shivers that followed every stroke of his hands. He was danger wrapped in secrets tied with a bow of bad intentions, and it was totally unfair that no one had made me feel this way before.
“Almost over?” I asked, hating how much he affected me.
“Yeah.”
He sounded angry, which made me flip over before he’d finished smoothing manna over a shallower cut. My quick movement must’ve surprised him, because it took a second for his expression to close off into that familiar, jaded mask.
In that brief, unguarded moment, I learned I wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by his touching me. Suddenly, it seemed like a very good idea to put my pants back on.
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