I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, but I couldn't wash away the ghost of his hands. It was as if his touch were still there as a wicked souvenir to torment me in his absence.
By the time I stomped into my bedchamber, wrapped in a plush robe and dragging a comb through my hair, the rage inside me had reached a tipping point.
My hands were still shaking. The fire alarms were still ringing within my chest. And worse, my body was still shivering with that ache he had so casually ignited and left to burn.
"Arrogant, manipulative son of a b***h," I hissed to the empty room, yanking the comb through a knot so hard my scalp stung. "Ouch!"
'Relax, will you?' Nyx spoke in my head.
'No, don't tell me to relax!' I snapped. 'Don't tell me to freaking relax when you're not the direct recipient of
