Page 33 of Coyote

"There's still blood on you."

"There's blood on you too."

"I don't care."

"I do."

He worked the cloth out of my fist and dropped it into the basin. My fingers stayed curled after it was gone, and I didn't know what to do with my hands.

John shifted forward on the bench. His knees opened around me, and he put one hand flat against my chest. "Sit."

"I'm fine."

"Sit down before I make you."

I showed him my teeth.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. "Those don't frighten me."

"They should."

"Maybe." He pushed.

I could have resisted. He was hurt, and I knew where. I could have twisted out of his grip without pulling a stitch. Instead, I let him put me on the bench.

John wrung out the cloth and stepped between my knees. He tipped my chin up with one finger and washed another man's blood from my face. Warm water ran past my temples and into my hair. His thumb stayed braced beneath my jaw, turning my head whenever he needed a better angle.

His knuckles brushed my cheek. The cloth passed over my mouth, my throat, the hollow behind my ear. Each touch stayed on my skin after his hand moved on.

My chest tightened until I couldn't pull a full breath.

I caught his wrist.

John stopped immediately. "Too much?"

I nodded.

"What do you need?"

I didn't have the words for it. My teeth hurt. My skin didn't fit. I wanted him closer and farther away and flat beneath me where nobody else could reach him. I wanted to crawl inside of him and wrap myself around his beating heart and protect it with my whole body.

My grip tightened around his wrist, and my breathing quickened. "I need to bite."

John held my eyes for a moment. Then he turned his arm and offered me the thick inside of his forearm. "Here."

"You're already hurt."

"That part isn't."

I looked at the bruises around his wrist.

"Bite above them," he said. "As hard as you need."

I closed my teeth over the muscle of his forearm, and the first bite barely left a mark.

"More," John said.

I bit harder.