Beautiful enough to be offensive.
Blood streaked his arms, dark against muscle and tan skin. Some of it had dried near his wrists, under his nails, across one shoulder. Not his blood. I knew that now. Eden knew too. She still watched through me, still sniffing, still making sure.
I lathered the cloth until foam gathered between my fingers.
Then I touched him.
Aiden’s breath caught.
Just a small thing.
Almost nothing.
But I heard it.
Felt it.
Loved it.
I started with his arms.
Slow strokes over his forearms, washing away the blood from the veins and tendons beneath his skin. His muscles jumped when I circled his wrists. I cleaned his knuckles, one by one, dragging the cloth over each finger until the water ran pink down the drain.
He watched me like I was doing something sacred.
