39. Draven

L ove… hmm…

The instant my hand touches her back, a harsh reminder of what happened to her floods my mind.

Holding her close in my arms, I bury my face in the curve of her neck. I can feel her arms trembling and sense her struggle to hold on.

"Just rest, I've got you." I turn us, angling our shoulders for the water to hit just me.

Her head nestles into the crook of my neck as I lean mine gently against hers. She's not heavy, but holding her with one arm will weigh on me. I'd rather not use my right arm if at all possible until the stinging pain is gone, but we will see. I like her right here.

I want her to give up on finishing the mazes.

I just can't say it out loud. She doesn't want that.

"There is something to be said about being lost." A soft smile comes over me when I feel her lips brush against my neck. "You can only wander for so long until you find where you are meant to go, or be found."

She's rubbing her eyes against my shoulder. "Where'd you learn that?"

I hum, "Alyson would always crawl into the vents of our home when she was young. She'd always say, ‘I'll just keep looking until I'm not lost anymore', after I'd berate her for it."

My arm isn't going to last.

"Come on, let me take care of your back."

After turning the shower off and stepping out, she lowers her legs, and I don't fight to keep her up in my arm. The moment she goes for a towel, I shake my head and turn her around.

"Let me." Drawing her wet hair across her shoulder, I see her back for the first time. I stifle the angry growl that was ready to come from my chest.

He is dead.

I remind myself, taking the towel draped over the counter and dabbing gently at her back.

Her head drops. "You think they will scar?"

"Yes, some of them will." I'm gentle, patting and not dragging. "After some time, I'll replace them." I don't want a fucking thing on her body from anyone that's not me, and there will be no arguing with that. Everything of hers belongs to me, her perfect skin, the scars, the cute dimples on her back right above her ass—every damn inch of her.

"You are still perfect, Petit Mouton . My version of perfection, and that's all that matters."

I lean forward and place a kiss over one of the lash marks, and she tenses ever so slightly. "I've really only said those three words to Alyson. Fear has always gripped me from saying it again." My words a breath against her skin, "I feel like I'd be cursing myself, and you for saying them. Even if it would be how I feel…" Between the lash marks, I place another kiss, drawing more of them up to her neck, and to the back of her head.

Putting my hand onto her good shoulder, I turn her to face me. "Doesn't mean I won't show you them. Every day." I place her towel over her, draping it down her front, an indication I'm not going to be tearing into her perfect cunt at this time.

"Crazy how we seem to be on the same page with that…" she mumbles.

A soft ' hmm ' comes from my lips as I draw my fingers along her throat, bringing them back to the nape of her neck. "Crazy, indeed."

"How are you moving your arm right now?" Her tone is agitated, as if it frustrates her that I'm completely ignoring the bullet holes in my shoulder. "I mean, I get it, you are a monster of a man, but pain is still pain."

She's sitting upright at the dining room table, bare-chested and with a flushed, cherry-red face.

I had demanded that she not put anything on to allow for the cool compress against her back, which was a towel I keep soaking with ice water, to help with the swelling. Tomorrow, I'll put her in an oatmeal bath, that should do the trick—along with continuing an antihistamine application.

"Draven…"

Yes, I'm staring at her nipples. They are hard, what does she expect from me?

"I've hurt worse, Petit Mouton. How is your back?"

Her arms cross at her waist, and she takes a deep breath. "It's beginning to feel better."

Nodding gently, I finish stirring the coffee and set it down in front of her. I'm not much of a cook, but I was capable at least of cooking the chicken breast and boxed rice they had. Max's comment about being a typical single male slightly hurt my feelings. At least the chicken was both cooked thoroughly, and not dried out.

The nature of her insult will compel me to shove that comment down her throat, just like my cock—but at another time.

"Mmm," she hums. "This is perfect. How did you know how I liked it?"

"In a social media post you put how much you enjoyed coffee, and commented how you like it." I cross my arms over my chest, and watch as she slowly lowers the mug and opens her mouth into a wide circle.

Keep it together…

I can feel the burning at the corners of my eyes as I hold my breath, trying my best not to laugh at her. Even if it's nearly impossible the way she's trying to figure out her feelings.

She's assessing whether she can reach me quickly enough to punch me and if I'm too injured to stop her.

"You son of a—"

"I'm kidding," I cut her off, rolling my lips and snorting out a chuckle .

I don't think I've laughed this much with anyone, ever .

"You just seem like the type to not like it super sweet and to think adding cream is blasphemy. So black you can see yourself in it, I imagine is your thought process."

Her lips seal, but her eyes narrow. "I'm still pissed off at you for doing that."

Leaning against the counter, I shrug my shoulder. She can be upset all she wants; me looking up her past will not be the worst thing I do. Though, I find it ironic she is more upset about that than me recutting her scars and biting the burn marks on her.

I move to the fridge as she continues, "You really don't talk much unless you have something to say." Her tone is grumbly. "That will be interesting to navigate."

"You will talk enough for the both of us." I pull out the jug of water I had sitting in the freezer to get cold. I'm surprised to feel something smack me in the back, the clang of the spoon against the tile floor is followed by a soft huff .

"Do you just not enjoy talking? You have a sexy voice, it's deep, husky. Do you do that on purpose? I bet you do, so you can get all the women to fall at their feet for you." I cross the room and she follows me with her gaze. "Slow, please slow this time—"

Placing my hand onto her shoulder to keep her down, I pour the cold water down her back: not slowly.

"Asshole!!" She jumps but I keep her steady. My shoulder protests the container of water, but as it empties, it feels less strained. "I swear!"

I lean down and brush my lips against her ear. "Swear what? "

"Swear I'm going to beat your ass when all of this is done!"

Oh how I enjoy tickling her nerves.

Standing straight, I gently pat her shoulder, before moving my hand across the curve of her neck. My hand wraps around her throat gently, my thumb brushing a tender path across her jawline. She tilts her head back and I watch her lips part slightly.

"Can't wait," I whisper, leaning back down and giving her a quick kiss.

As I move away from her, of course she makes a comment; "Spider-Man kiss. Box: Checked."

I roll my eyes, though she can't see it, and place the jug in the sink before starting to fill it.

When my eyes fix forward, I can see the clock on the microwave right in my face. Time is ticking, and if I'm honest, I'd rather her just forget about going into that maze. The thought of distracting her with something so she doesn't pay attention to the hours passing has been a fleeting thought.

"What do you hope to gain from winning?" I ask as I shut off the water.

The sound of wood scraping against tile as her chair moves back makes me turn my head to see her standing slowly. I do not hesitate to look again at her breasts; I'm unabashed about staring at her body.

"I want to kill those that did what they did to me, get away with it, and have all of the information redacted from my past, unredacted. I want it all leaked to the press, so they know what they did."

After placing the water into the freezer, I make my way to her side. "Sit on the couch with me." She nods, and once we are settled into the nicely modernized living room, I say, "You know, Petit Mouton, I can give you all of those things."

"I don't want it handed to me."

I gently—keeping in mind the towel and her back—set her into my lap. Her legs rest over mine, her shoulder leaning against my chest.

"I want my own revenge, Draven." Her hand moves to rest against my chest, her nails drawing along the designs of my tattoo.

I nod, and don't respond. There is no part of me that doesn't understand why she's doing this. I also know five will be the most challenging, and not because it will be more traumatic than the other mazes. It's physically the most difficult, and only one can make it out.

"Do you have any insight for Sloth's maze?"

"Not too much," I confess with a sigh. "Just that there are dogs involved; Blue Bay Shephard mixes, and all they do is hunt. I can only guess they will be hunting you ." My hand drops to her thigh, and massages in a steady rhythm as I continue. "It's a good thing you have strong legs, and run track." That I did see in her background.

Before she could make any sort of remark, I continue; "Only one person is allowed to come out, Max. I was lucky that I was the sole person that entered maze five when I won. No one—"

"Can you tell me about yours?" She cuts me off. "What was your maze five?"

I really don't want to talk about it.

One day I will tell her about my experiences in the mazes, but I just don't want to delve into it when it holds no value for her now .

"Let's just say, I don't look at bodies of water the same as I did before going into maze five." Her eyes round, and I slowly bring my opposite hand from her thigh, up to the back of her neck, cradling it. "I'll tell you, but not now. Let's focus on you, and you alone. I need you to make it out of that maze. Do you understand?"

She nods, "I will. I know you didn't get to actually chase me through the woods—" She's trying to make a joke, but I can't find humor in it. "—but I'm fast. If it's just running from dogs, I've got this."

I bite in the inside of my cheek. "I don't know if it's just the dogs. Can you not be stubborn this time and call for me?"

"Stubborn?! Draven, he—"

"So infuriating." I groan, rolling my eyes in irritation which translates to my tone, "I get being independent, but your life means more than that ego of yours."

"He threatened to kill you!" she protests. "I can take it—"

"As can I. Don't hesitate again." I hold her head in place so she can't look away. "I mean it, Max. Do you hear me?"

I can see the resistance in her eyes, but I am not going to back down. Not when it comes to her.

"Say yes," I demand. "Say you understand."