Nero’s hand darted up, catching mine. “This isn’t how I pictured it.”
“Our mission on the ship?” I slipped free of his hold and poured the potion over his wounds.
“No, not the mission.” Nero winced as pale smoke sizzled up from the cuts the potion had touched. “It’s not how I pictured the first time you took off my clothes.”
My cheeks warmed, despite myself. But this was no time to be self-conscious. I continued to douse his wounds with the healing potion.
He reached up, his hand cupping my cheek. “You’re blushing. You look so beautiful like this.” His eyes hardened as they flickered to my bleeding shoulder. “You’re hurt.” He dropped his hand, resting it below my wound.
“I’m fine.” I peeled his hand from my arm. “Worry about yourself.”
“I am an angel. I will be fine.” His body didn’t agree. A wet cough trailed his confident assertion, splattering his lips with blood.
Desperation shook me, and I grabbed another bottle of healing potion, spraying him again. “It’s not working,” I said in despair as his wounds smoked but didn’t show any signs of healing. “I’m going to get a witch to heal you.”
“They can’t help me. The wounds are too deep,” he told me.
“Can you heal yourself?”
“As you noted before, my magic is not cooperating at the moment. My body is too overtaxed from all the damage it’s taken.”
I grabbed the knife. “Take my blood.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’m fine. Just do it.”
He knocked the knife from my hand. “No.” When I reached for it, he grabbed hold of my wrist.
“Let go, you stubborn angel!”
“No.”
I pushed harder. He didn’t let go, even as blood gushed from his wounds. I stopped moving. I was only making things worse.
“Why won’t you let me heal you?” I demanded.
“You’re hurt. You need your strength, not for me to take it. I would have to take so much blood, it could kill you.”
“I’ll stop you before then.”
“Do you really think you are strong enough to fight me when the hunger takes over? When the brakes are off?”
“I can take you.”
“No, you can’t. You’re not ready to face me when I’m in that state.” He let out a hard, tortured laugh. “I want nothing more than to drink from you, Leda, to take what you’re offering.” He traced his finger down my throat. “Your blood is as sweet as the Nectar of the gods, and I’ve been craving it since the moment I first tasted you.”
My pulse throbbed against his finger, begging him to take the plunge.
“But I can’t.” He dropped his hand from my throat. “I would drain you dry, and there’s nothing either of us could do to stop me.”
“You are a phenomenally stubborn man. I’m sure you can control yourself,” I said.
“No, I couldn’t. Your blood is my trigger, Leda. Something about it dissolves my willpower.”
“I have enough willpower for the both of us.”
His chest buzzed with a low, deep laugh. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“You stupid, stubborn angel.” I didn’t fight him. I couldn’t risk hurting him any more than I already had. “Just let me heal you.”
“No.”
But I wasn’t giving up. I refused to let him die. I moved quickly, my fangs flashing out to bite down on my wrist. As blood bubbled up to the surface, I pushed my hand into his face. Silver flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t make a move toward me.
“I thought my blood made you lose control,” I all but growled in frustration. What did it take for him to let me heal him?
“It does,” he said, his face strained, his eyes following the drop of blood as it slid across my wrist.
I could tell he was barely holding himself together. He was about to crack. Nero Windstriker, the angel of New York, the man whose life was defined by his absolute willpower, was breaking down because of me. It would have been sexy if he weren’t dying right in front of me. I could feel his blood flowing out of his body, and it sang to me like nothing ever had. I clenched my teeth and ignored its call. He did not need me to drink from him right now. He was weak enough already.
Nero looked away from the blood trickling down my wrist, his eyes meeting mine. “If you don’t stop hurting yourself, I will knock you unconscious.”
“Why are you doing this?” I growled at him.
“I’m protecting you. If something happened to you, I…” He shook his head.
“You’d have to find someone else to torture?”
“There is no one else.”
“There’s a whole Legion full of them ripe for torture. I’m sure you could find a few.”
He wrapped the arm of his torn shirt around my wrist. “There’s no one like you,” he said quietly, his eyes serious. And I didn’t think he was talking about torturing me with his training sessions anymore. He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my fingers.
Another collision rocked the ship. The floor lurched, and books flew across the room—along with all the furniture in the cabin. Nero’s arms closed around me, shielding my body, but his grip slipped when we hit something else, throwing him against the wall. I peeled my aching body off the ground as the new pilot burst through the door.