Page 62 of Knight’s Salvation

He never wanted them to know the truth about him, what he did to survive. Even if they did know, nothing could be done. Not even Silas, a powerful angel, could save his ass.

“Brace, brother, ’cause this shit’s gonna sting.” Roc pressed open the knife wound to the front of his shoulder then poured what felt like liquid fire into the four-inch gash.

He jolted, gritted his teeth, dug his fingers into the sink behind him to stay upright, and with serious effort managed not to snarl.

He usually took care of his own injuries, but the awkward position meant he had to ask for help. He hated asking for help. Their bodies healed on their own pretty fast, but a knife wound like his would take longer without a helping hand.

Roc squeezed the sides together and got stitching. By the time he’d finished, Zen’s patience had dissolved, and though it wasn’t Rocco’s fault he got stuck with a knife, he was ready to knock the guy’s head off his shoulders.

“You done?” The loss of blood had weakened him, used precious energy he didn’t have to spare. It was only a matter of time before the pain would swamp his limbs, before he was a living, breathing ball of agony.

“Yes and you’re welcome.”

Zenon grunted. “Yeah, thanks.”

Roc finished taping him up and handed over his shirt. “You all right, man? You look kinda pale.”

Zenon gave him a “well, duh” look then tucked his shirt in the back of his jeans. No way was he getting it back on tonight, and not just because of the five stitches Roc had decorated him with either. His skin burned, throbbed. The familiar sensation never got easier, no matter how many times it happened.

He turned to Rocco before he walked out the door. “Good luck, man.”

Rocco held his gaze. “You, too, brother.”

By the time he got back to his apartment, it was two in the morning and he thanked God Mia wouldn’t be awake to see him like this again.

He kicked off his boots and with shaking hands tugged the denim down his legs, unable to bear the rough fabric against his skin. He needed a shower, but there was no time for that now. He should sleep on the couch, but he needed to see her, to feel her by his side. He didn’t want to suffer this alone anymore. Even if she didn’t know it was happening.

In the past when he’d pushed the time between his visits to Helena and it got really bad, there was always the thought in the back of his mind that maybe he’d left it too long, that maybe he wouldn’t come out of it this time. Sometimes the thought was a welcome one, but not tonight.

The room was dark, but he could see her body silhouetted under the covers, could hear the slow measured sound of her breathing, a sound he’d grown accustomed to. Couldn’t fucking sleep without. She’d been with him little over a week, and in that week she’d burrowed so damn deep it was frightening. He knew when the time came he’d feel her absence like a missing limb, like a part of him had been ripped away.

Pulling back the sheet as carefully as his trembling hands would allow, he climbed in beside her.

Moments later, everything came crashing down around him. This time was bad, worse than usual. That bitch hadn’t given him jack shit, had held back again so he’d be forced to return to her sooner. That, along with the blood loss he’d suffered, was gonna make for a messy night.

Then it all became too much and he concentrated on closing down his mind, trying to disengage from the rest of his body. He focused on Mia, on the sound of each subtle inhalation. Convinced himself that he could feel the heat from her body pressed against his, even though he knew he lay on the other side of the bed, far enough way so he wouldn’t wake her.

He closed down his senses, focusing on one thing: getting through this—just one more time. Because this time Mia waited on the other side. Closing his eyes, he zoned out as best he could, letting wave after wave of agony take him away.

When he was pulled from the darkness the first time, he was aware of the warmth surrounding him. Gentle heat seeped through his skin, crept into his limbs and began to ease the deep ache racking his body. He’d been cold, so very cold. He didn’t know how many hours had passed, but finally he felt like he could draw breath.

Then he was sucked back under.

When he came around the second time, it felt like he’d been asleep for years. His lids were heavy, his eyes scratchy. Opening them in that moment seemed impossible. But his muscles ached in a pleasant way, kind of like they did after a serious workout and a long hot shower. And then he heard her—Mia.

Her voice was soft, close. She was talking to him. He couldn’t make out most of the words, but the tone was one you’d use on someone you cared about, someone important.

Finally, his other senses followed, easing back to life. And oh God, she was pressed against him, her soft curves molded to his front, her arms wrapped around his waist. Her face was buried against his throat, and she murmured softly, causing her warm lips to brush against his skin. It tickled, making his scalp tingle.

Yeah, it was pretty much the best moment of his entire life.

During his time in Hell, or when he was with his mistress he disconnected, didn’t want to feel. Feeling anything was bad. But with Mia—shit, it was like his world had moved from black and white to vibrant color.

Still out of it, he only managed to pick up the odd word she was saying. But what he did hear made his gut tighten and his heart seize. They were words no one had ever said to him before, words he never thought he would ever hear, not directed his way. Emotion swamped him with a strength he struggled to process. Mia was warming him, soothing him—taking care of him.

Like he mattered.

She cared about him. No one had ever cared about him, not like this.