Page 67 of Stone Cold Touch
A small grin appeared. “Take your shirt off.”
I stared at him.
His brows rose. “I’m being serious. I need to put this—” he shook the bottle again “—on the scratches.”
It took me a second to respond. “I’m not taking my shirt off.”
“Yes, you are.”
Rising onto my elbows, I met his determined gaze with my own. “You’re on crack if you think I’m removing a single stitch of clothing.”
“Like I said before, crack is whack.” He grinned while I glared at him. “Your shirt needs to come off, shortie. The reason your stomach doesn’t hurt is because you’ve got some venom or blood soaking through your sweater. It’s numbing your skin and having venom all up on you isn’t really going to be conducive to healing. The top needs to go.”
I glanced down. With the darkness of my sweater, it was impossible to see if there was demon blood on it.
Roth came closer, crouching by the bed. “No need to be shy.”
“It’s not that,” I sputtered, forcing myself into an upright position. The room tilted a little and I closed my eyes.
“It’s not like I haven’t seen you before.”
“Oh my God,” I moaned. “That is not the point.”
Roth sighed. “Look, we’re wasting time. You’re going to get sicker and this holy water won’t work. It’s as simple as that, so stop being a girl and take off your sweater.”
Prying my eyes open, I struggled with my erratic pulse. I saw it in his steady gaze then. If I didn’t take off the sweater, he was going to and that would be worse. I could do this. He felt nothing for me. Fine. I felt nothing for him now. Great. I was a big girl.
I muttered a curse under my breath and reached down, carefully taking off the sweater and tank top in one pull. As I dropped the oh-so offending material onto the floor, I cast my gaze to my stomach.
It really didn’t look that...bad.
The claws had just grazed me, but the three marks were a dark, angry red and tiny little lines were branching out from the cuts like veins.
After a few tense seconds, I realized Roth hadn’t moved. Where in the Hell was the whole “time is of the essence” crap? I lifted my gaze and saw that he seriously hadn’t moved at all.
Still crouched by the bed, the bottle of holy water dangled from his long fingertips. He was staring at me with the same kind of intensity he had in the locker rooms, but there was a heat behind his golden eyes and his stare was fixed on my chest. At least Bambi wasn’t using my boob as a pillow this time. Her diamond-shaped head was resting against my lower stomach now.
As he continued to stare, heat curled low in my belly, especially when his tongue slipped out and glided over his upper lip. Light reflected off the bolt and I felt my skin flush. I didn’t like what was starting to go on inside my body. And I didn’t like that he was staring at me, that he even felt as though he was allowed to at this point.
And I sure as Hell didn’t like the breathlessness invading my chest either.
“Stop staring at me,” I ordered.
He shocked the demon out of me by dragging his gaze up, the concentrated power behind his irises searing my skin as he rose. A moment passed and then he spoke. “Lie back.”
I wanted to resist his brisk tone, but the sooner I got this over with, the better. Easing back, I stared at the ceiling as I felt him come closer.
Roth hovered over me, and I fisted my hands in the soft blanket to keep myself still. “This might sting a bit.”
I gritted my teeth. “Can’t be worse than being stitched up, right?”
His gaze flicked to mine and he murmured, “Right.”
Holding my breath, I prepared myself for whatever brain-cell destroying pain was about to be unleashed as he unscrewed the bottle and lowered it to my stomach. The first drop fizzled on my skin and then the liquid sloshed out, covering the claw marks and running down my belly, spilling onto the bed beneath me.
Bambi jerked back, her head disappearing under the band of my jeans, avoiding the steady stream of holy water. My skin burned at the contact, turning a ruddy pink, and I bit down on my lip. It wasn’t as bad as the stitches, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either.
“Sorry,” he muttered, tipping the bottle once more. He did so carefully, avoiding direct contact with it himself. I imagined his reaction, given that he was full-blooded, would be worse than mine.