Page 82 of Sublime Target
He was much stronger than her. She was human—fragile and delicate.
He needed something to break this terrible spell—just a little.
Hygar approached with slow, practised movements, his expression betraying cautiousness.
The word had gotten around about Jerik’s condition. Everyone was treating him like he was made of fragile glass.
Some were giving him a wide berth.
The only ones that remained chill with him—and slightly amused, to his eternal irritation—were the First Division guys, Ikriss, and Iskar.
They understood.
Speaking with each of them in turn had helped him endure four rotations of pure torture. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, and he’d been close to the brink of death more than a few times.
“How can I assist you, Sir?” The warrior reached his side and offered a respectful bow.
“Hygar, give me your dagger. And go get me that emergency medi-kit from the wall. Specifically, the Hemacel.”
“Er…”
“I’m not going to stab anyone else, so just give me the damn thing.” Technically, his orders carried little weight, since he’d been temporarily stripped of the right of command, but Hygar wasn’t going to deny him now, was he?
The young warrior slipped his Callidum dagger from its sheath and handed it to Jerik.
Jerik simply spun the thing around once and raised his left forearm so the sleeve of his ceremonial kashkan fell away, exposing his bare skin.
Then, in an act of desperation, he stabbed himself through his left hand with great precision, deliberately evading tendon and bone.
Hygar swore and ran to get the medi-kit.
Jerik let out a small exhalation of relief as pain lanced through him, sharp and cold and familiar, cutting through the haze of his madness.
It was exactly what he needed right now—just enough of a diversion to slow down his lust to the point where he could control himself.
He kept the dagger in, savoring the agony until Hygar returned with a canister of hemacel in his hands. “Sir, I’m not going to ask any questions. Just take that damn blade out and put this on the wound.”
“That’s the whole point of it.” Jerik yanked out the blade and retrieved the canister from the warrior. He quickly applied a large amount of the viscous substance over the front and back of his wound. After all, he wasn’t like the First Division guys, who healed in an instant, thanks to their virulent nanites.
The hemacel worked immediately, stemming the bleeding and forming seamless black patches on both sides of his hand.
It stung, too, which was good.
It would ache for some time yet, providing a slight distraction from the intensity of the storm.
A small circuit-breaker. That’s what he’d needed to endure this exquisite agony just a little bit longer.
After all, he wanted her to experience the greatest pleasure she’d ever known before he Claimed her once and for all.
THIRTY
As soon as he returned, she knew.
Before he appeared in the doorway, she knew.
She didn’t know how—maybe it was his scent or simply the force of his presence because he didn’t make a sound when he moved.
In a heartbeat, he was there again, and maybe it was just her imagination, but the tension surrounding him—so taut you could have snapped it with a breath—seemed a little less intense.