“It hurts,” I complain.
“Shh, little one. Here, this will help.” He presses his wrist to my mouth, still stroking my hair and purring like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it anymore.
My fangs descend instantly and I sink them into his wrists. The first mouthful of his blood washes away the horrible taste in my mouth, and when it hits my sore throat, it cools it, coating it as it goes down and spreads strength throughout my body. I keep swallowing, more and more, until I fall back limp into his arms, no longer in pain and beyond tired again.
“That’s it, rest now, your body needs to heal.” He kisses my forehead and holds me closer.
“Why am I so tired all the time?” I mumble, turning my head into his chest, seeking out his warmth and his heartbeat.
“You are regenerating, your powers are healing your body and changing you. Making you stronger with each feeding. Soon, you won’t need to sleep much at all. So, rest now, little one, while you can,” he whispers, his arms tightening, and I sigh and slip back to sleep, with his taste still on my tongue.
I wake up in Mishal’s arms, and when he notices I’m awake, he gently places me on the floor like I’m made of glass before he walks over and grabs the food. He refuses to eat until I have, so I nibble at the stale bread and meat while he watches me with those dark eyes until he’s satisfied. When he tears through the remainder, I lean into his arm, grimacing at the dirty feel of my body. It feels like I have a layer of sweat, sick, and blood coating me, which I probably do.
“Ew, I really need a wash.” I grimace.
He stops eating his meat to sniff me, making me laugh and push him away. “You smell like me and sex,” he comments, before carrying on eating.
“Exactly,” I grumble.
“It’s a good smell.” He grins, leaning back now that the tray is empty.
He passes me the water from the tray, and I drink half before letting him have the rest.
“You want to wash?” he asks finally, and I perk up at that.
“I can?” I gush, jumping to my feet.
He laughs as he climbs to his feet, and heads over by the door in the corner. “Brace yourself, it’s cold,” he warns.
“What is?” I inquire, but he presses a button I didn’t even notice before, and water sprays down from the ceiling, coating the floor and washing the blood, sex, and vomit away down drains built into the bottom corner of the walls.
He’s right, the water is cold, but it feels amazing. I tilt my head back, slicking my hair out of my face, and let the water trail over my body, washing away the last couple of days. I scrub at my skin, getting rid of the blood before I feel warm hands land on my waist. I freeze as a hard chest meets my back. His hands run up my body, moving through the water as he cups my breasts and tweaks my nipples, before moving up to my neck and circling it, bringing me right back to his chest with it.
He moves his fingers through my hair, taking time to untangle every knot before scrubbing it with the water. By the time he’s done, I’m slack and leaning back into his chest with my head near his shoulder. His hands skate down my body again, curving around my stomach and thighs before he drops to his knees behind me. He picks up each foot without saying a word and just cleans my body for me. The soft, caring way he does it makes tears gather in my lashes, but I quickly blink them away, not wanting him to see how easily he is undoing me.
He washes my foot then kisses the heel before dropping it back to the floor and picking up the other, giving it the same treatment before moving to my legs. He massages the water in, soothing my sore muscles before going to my thighs and massaging them too. He grabs my ass, gently washing it and kneading my cheeks and I sigh, leaning farther back into him, letting him do whatever he wants to me as he worships me, because that is exactly what he’s doing. I jump when he bites my left cheek lightly before he kisses it better.
I open my mouth to scold him, but he gets up and moves around to my front, dropping to his knees again and looking up at me through his long, dark lashes. His hair is plastered to his head, wild and wet, and droplets trace down his face and body. He looks like the god he is. Why is he at my feet? He cleans the front of my legs, ignoring my pussy, which is already wet and wanting him again. He washes my stomach gently and cups my breasts, cleaning under them and licking water beads from my nipples before pressing his body to my front, and resting his head on my chest.
“Mishal,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say. He warned me he was a beast, and of the dirty things he would do to me, but he never said he would try and steal my heart by caring for me. Even in a cell, he’s trying to give me everything I want.
I fall to my knees, unable to stop myself, as I dot small kisses all along his brow and cheeks before kissing his lips and pulling away. He lets me, just watching me as I span my hands on his chest and start scrubbing away the blood like he did to me. He blinks in shock and I make sure to go slowly, knowing he is unused to being treated so softly. He’s a hard man, a strong man, but every hard, strong man needs a heart. Needs caring and softness.
I wash his abs, marvelling at the strong muscles in his body before moving to his thick, hairy thighs. I wash them, kissing both before moving around the back of him and sweeping my hands along his strong big back. He leans forward, his arms braced on the floor as I massage his muscles, tracing each scar littered across his skin like a battlefield.
“What are they from?” I ask softly, running my fingers along a long, raised scar before tracing a burn mark.
“My childhood. There was a reason we killed our parents,” he answers gruffly.
Next, I trace his intricate tattoo, the lines thick and black, the only colour is the bright gold and green eyes. “Is this Nyre?” I query.
“Yes.”
“He’s beautiful,” I coo, and he is. His dragon form is regal and huge, taking up his whole back with his tail curving along his hip and ass. I feel Nyre move under his skin and drop a kiss over the dragon tattoo. “When did you get it tattooed?” I press curiously, wanting him to open up to me.
“I didn’t, I was born with the markings. We all were. When I turned six, I transformed for the first time. It was Nyre coming free. I thought I had lost my mind, I always had this other voice in my head, a boy talking to me. As I grew, so did Nyre, and we became closer than brothers, we became almost one. He is the only reason I haven’t gone crazy in here, but he is struggling being trapped for so long,” he finishes, his voice harsh and worried.
“You are scared for him?” I ask, and he hunches his shoulders like I have struck him.
“I fear nothing,” he growls, more animal than man.
I curl over his shoulders, wrapping my arms around him and cuddling him from the pain in his voice when he said that. “I know, but you worry about him,” I murmur, trying again.
“Yes,” he whispers, like he is scared of being caught saying it. “It hurts him to be trapped for so long. Before you came, I could barely hear him anymore. Sometimes, I used to resent him always being here, never being alone, but when I finally was…I hated it. I wanted him here, I wanted him in my head. He was weakening, then there you were and he came roaring back to the surface…I just don’t want him to disappear again.” His voice is husky and I hold him tighter. I can’t imagine spending my life sharing a body with someone, but it’s obviously built a bond no one could understand…to lose that must be terrifying.