Page 31 of Alpha Chained

Leaning back against the door, I allow myself the luxury of taking in every inch of her. She’s lovely, I realize with a start as I study her features, the lines of her limbs. She’s all sweet curves and lines that come together in a picture that’s just…beautiful. Truly beautiful in a way that goes beyond mere physical appearance. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel something stir within me – a flicker of hope, a glimmer of light in the endless darkness that has become my existence.

She stirs, and a pang of guilt sweeps over me, as if I’m overstepping some sort of line by looking at her. But I watch as Raura moves again, her eyelids fluttering open. For a brief moment, she seems disoriented, taking in her surroundings with a sleepy haze. Then her gaze lands on me, and her eyes widen, suddenly alert.

“Riot! You’re hurt!” She bolts upright, concern etching lines across her face as she takes in my battered appearance.

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance despite the ache radiating through my body. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” She frowns, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “You’re covered in blood!”

Most of it isn’t mine, but before I can protest, she’s on her feet, crossing the room to examine me more closely. She lifts the hem of my shirt briskly to examine my torso – as if she’s perfectly comfortable around me now. Her fingers ghost over the bruises blooming across my ribs, featherlight touches that somehow burn hotter than any wound.

“We need to get you cleaned up.” She raises her head, meeting my eye. There’s determination on her face.

“It’s fine,” I insist, though I make no move to stop her as she takes my hand, tugging me toward the bathroom.

Once inside, she guides me to sit on the edge of the tub, her touch gentle yet insistent. Wordlessly, she begins peeling away my bloodied clothes, exposing the damage beneath. I tense, resisting the urge to shrink away as each new injury is revealed to her scrutiny. Not because it hurts – I’m used to that now – but because of the growing expression of horror on her face.

Her sharp inhalation cuts through me. “Oh, Riot…”

I stiffen, bracing for her pity. But her expression holds none of that. Only concern shines in those deep, honeyed eyes as she wets a washcloth and begins gently sponging the dried blood from my skin.

“I’m okay,” I say. “I…” I stop, not quite sure what else to say. What is there to say? That I’m fine? That I’m alive…even though I’ve left a trail of death in my wake? I try never to think of these things. I do my job and get out. Lingering on it just makes it harder.

And things are hard enough.

The silence stretches between us as she tends to me as diligently as a nurse. There’s nothing sexual about her touch, but it moves me beyond words. In all the time that I’ve been here, nobody has taken a moment to do anything like this. Not that I’d have wanted them to. And they’ve known that. They keep their distance, and I like it that way.

But I’ve missed the sense of touch.

I can’t deny it. The feeling of hands on me that aren’t violent. Not trying to end me. I stare down at hers now. Her fingers are working nimbly over a series of slashes that cut almost to the bone.

“You have beautiful hands,” I tell her.

Raura’s head flies up, her eyes wide. “Oh.” Her lips press together. “Thank you.” She dabs carefully. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

I shake my head. “No. It doesn’t hurt.”

“I don’t know how that can be.” Her brow furrows, her features darkening. “How can he allow this, Riot? Why do they do this to you?”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“That’s not good enough!” Her voice sharpens. “You’re not a machine. He can’t expect you to go on like this.”

“He can do what he wants.”

“But why? Why do you do it, Riot?” She’s asked this before. I couldn’t answer then. I don’t answer now. When I say nothing, she huffs out a breath, then rinses the cloth and wrings it out before dabbing gain. The water has run red.

“Riot, I…” She pauses, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I want to ask you something.”

I nod for her to continue.

“I found something. You… You had some photos in your drawer…in a box. I, um…I was wondering…”

What the fuck?

I’m on my feet, fury flaring. “You went through my things?”

Her eyes fly wide as she takes a quick step back. “No…I…I…” She drops the cloth. “Shit…yes…okay, I did.” She clasps her hands together. “I’m really sorry. It’s just—”