Read Online Dimmest Of Night (Dimmest Of Night Series) by Jennifer Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Anderson
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cleaned. Looking under the sink in the cabinets coming across a basin. Filling it up with warm water I made my way back into his bedroom.
Sitting down next to him, he didn’t move a muscle and I was starting to wonder when he was going to wake up. What was he doing to get so injured? Wiping his face clean, there was absolutely no evidence left of the cuts. His face now smooth, and him being out I really got a chance to study him. Strong jaw line. His skin now paler than usual, dark eyelashes, perfect jet black hair. So many handsome, perfect features. It was hard not to just sit and stare at him for hours. Shaking my head to snap out of my single minded focus, I started to try and lift his shirt. Unfortunately, it was so coated in blood that it was sticking to his skin. Afraid of wounds needed treated I started to look around for scissors, knife, anything. Patting down his leg, I found one tucked in his sock. Unsheathing it, I slowly cut open his shirt. He was covered in dried blood, dipping down below his pants. Wetting the wash cloth I meticulously started cleaning him up, slowly revealing very defined, very hard muscles. Working my way up his washboard abs, I found a few nasty gashes that I cleaned the best I could. Continuing my way up to his pecks I slowly uncovered his intricate tattoo that ran up his shoulder and stopped before it hit his bicep.
Getting up to empty the basin, I stumbled when I was hit with an emotion of pain. It wasn’t strong enough to send myself reeling in misery, just strong enough for me to take notice. Looking back at Blane I was confused. Dumping the water out, I quickly made my way back to his bedside. It was Blane that I was feeling the pain from. Why am I feeling his emotions now? I felt pain, misery, and pride. Running a fresh wash cloth across his forehead I laid it there staring at this mystifying man. I don’t like it, but I care about him. I don’t want him in pain, especially on my behalf.
Sighing, and stripping my now dirty sweater off to my tank top, I wasn’t willing to leave him a lone for a second. Even if it was for a much needed shower. Leaning down, I unstrung my combat boots longing for a nice beautiful pair of heels instead. Careful not to jostle him, I laid carefully down beside him. Pulling a blanket up over top both of us, it wasn’t long before my exhaustion won out.
. . . . . .
He didn’t know what woke him, the wind picking up outside, his body knitting itself back together, or the warm body laying next to him. He still felt like he had been ran over, but her head on his shoulder made him soon forget. He could smell the scent of strawberries coming from her long hair, strands laying across his chest. Her chest pushing up against his ribs every time she breathed in. He couldn’t remember the last time he laid down with a female. He preferred not to, their bodies to fragile. Refusing to have any sort of attachment. Human women were too needy, and attachment’s form too fast after sex. Lifting up one strand from his chest, it was just a soft as he imagined. Softer even. He wondered what it would feel like to actually run his whole hand through it, to fist it when kissing her. Dropping the strand, he couldn’t let those thoughts run away with him. He couldn’t get distracted. Looking down at her again, knowing she was the worst kind of distraction. Head strong, defiant, a pain in the ass. Shaking his head, she was also the most stunning female he had ever seen. Enough to even rival the female angels. He knew it wasn’t all in his head when he seen Gabriel’s reaction to her. Still now, sending his blood boiling. She was also proud, strong, and caring. She reminded him of the calm before a storm. She was intriguing. Intriguing makes him uneasy. The secrets that he saw looking into her eyes, made him uneasy. He didn’t get uneasy, until now. She fit a little to nicely in his arms.
For the first time in years the thoughts of getting intimate with a
Sitting down next to him, he didn’t move a muscle and I was starting to wonder when he was going to wake up. What was he doing to get so injured? Wiping his face clean, there was absolutely no evidence left of the cuts. His face now smooth, and him being out I really got a chance to study him. Strong jaw line. His skin now paler than usual, dark eyelashes, perfect jet black hair. So many handsome, perfect features. It was hard not to just sit and stare at him for hours. Shaking my head to snap out of my single minded focus, I started to try and lift his shirt. Unfortunately, it was so coated in blood that it was sticking to his skin. Afraid of wounds needed treated I started to look around for scissors, knife, anything. Patting down his leg, I found one tucked in his sock. Unsheathing it, I slowly cut open his shirt. He was covered in dried blood, dipping down below his pants. Wetting the wash cloth I meticulously started cleaning him up, slowly revealing very defined, very hard muscles. Working my way up his washboard abs, I found a few nasty gashes that I cleaned the best I could. Continuing my way up to his pecks I slowly uncovered his intricate tattoo that ran up his shoulder and stopped before it hit his bicep.
Getting up to empty the basin, I stumbled when I was hit with an emotion of pain. It wasn’t strong enough to send myself reeling in misery, just strong enough for me to take notice. Looking back at Blane I was confused. Dumping the water out, I quickly made my way back to his bedside. It was Blane that I was feeling the pain from. Why am I feeling his emotions now? I felt pain, misery, and pride. Running a fresh wash cloth across his forehead I laid it there staring at this mystifying man. I don’t like it, but I care about him. I don’t want him in pain, especially on my behalf.
Sighing, and stripping my now dirty sweater off to my tank top, I wasn’t willing to leave him a lone for a second. Even if it was for a much needed shower. Leaning down, I unstrung my combat boots longing for a nice beautiful pair of heels instead. Careful not to jostle him, I laid carefully down beside him. Pulling a blanket up over top both of us, it wasn’t long before my exhaustion won out.
. . . . . .
He didn’t know what woke him, the wind picking up outside, his body knitting itself back together, or the warm body laying next to him. He still felt like he had been ran over, but her head on his shoulder made him soon forget. He could smell the scent of strawberries coming from her long hair, strands laying across his chest. Her chest pushing up against his ribs every time she breathed in. He couldn’t remember the last time he laid down with a female. He preferred not to, their bodies to fragile. Refusing to have any sort of attachment. Human women were too needy, and attachment’s form too fast after sex. Lifting up one strand from his chest, it was just a soft as he imagined. Softer even. He wondered what it would feel like to actually run his whole hand through it, to fist it when kissing her. Dropping the strand, he couldn’t let those thoughts run away with him. He couldn’t get distracted. Looking down at her again, knowing she was the worst kind of distraction. Head strong, defiant, a pain in the ass. Shaking his head, she was also the most stunning female he had ever seen. Enough to even rival the female angels. He knew it wasn’t all in his head when he seen Gabriel’s reaction to her. Still now, sending his blood boiling. She was also proud, strong, and caring. She reminded him of the calm before a storm. She was intriguing. Intriguing makes him uneasy. The secrets that he saw looking into her eyes, made him uneasy. He didn’t get uneasy, until now. She fit a little to nicely in his arms.
For the first time in years the thoughts of getting intimate with a
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