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In my life, I had learned how to survive so many deadly and dangerous things. However, I had never learned that being cared for could leave me this tender.

Part of me still wanted to sit up and do it myself.

The other part made me stay right where I was.

For once, I listened to her.

I let my hands rest.

I let him be kind to me.

He stopped cleaning me for a moment and frowned. I looked down at faint marks on my hips.

He stilled. “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I bruised you.”

“I liked it.”

“Careful, little witch.” He pressed the warm cloth to each mark.

“Mmm.”

Then he lowered his lips and kissed every single bruise like he was apologizing to each of them personally.

Damn. . .I could actually be with him forever. . .

“I heard that.”

“Stop listening.”

“Your thoughts are delicious. I want to eat them.”

“You need to calm down.”

He moved the warm cloth up my body and wiped the sweat beneath my breasts and along my collarbone. When he got to the fading black heart, he wiped it with so much care, treating the curse like a bleeding wound.

He dipped the cloth into the water and then wrung it out. “How do you feel?”

“Pampered and spoiled.”

“Good. You deserve it.” He continued washing me and to my shock. . .began to hum a haunting melody.

“That’s beautiful. What is it?”

“A hum I would think about when I wondered about my mate.”

“You thought about finding your mate a lot?”

“These centuries have been very lonely.”

“Did you ever try to love another?”

“I never could.”

“What about sex?”