Queen of Death

Chapter 18

Slow Hands - Niall Horan

I just wanna take my time

We could do this, baby, all night

'Cause I want you bad

Yeah, I want you, baby

I already know that there ain't no stoppin' 

Your plans and those

Slow hands

— — — — —

Solana

I'm fighting against my instinctual self-preservation to let down the walls I've built to block my heart and mind from being weaponized against me.

If that's what it takes to get through to him then it's a small price to pay.

With all the tenderness I can muster, I wash away the blood, dirt, and sweat that clings to his broad chest like a second skin. The smaller cuts and scrapes are already healing, and the larger ones look less inflamed and angry.

I run the washcloth down his arms from shoulders to fingertips with equal care. I add another dollop of soap to the cloth before working on his neck and face.

The muscles in his neck are tense and strained the whole time I'm washing him, like he's in agony. "Am I hurting you?" I ask softly, any louder would sound like a scream in the quiet of the bathroom.

"No," he shakes his head no but the grimace marring his face contradicts what he's saying. "You're killing me."

My arms fall limply to my sides. I don't want to hurt him. I didn't realize he was in pain, why didn't he stop me earlier?

His chest heaves with a dozen heavy breaths, like he's trying to talk himself through a panic attack. "Please go."

He refuses to look me in the eye, pinching his eyes shut tight. "I will, but first you need to tell me why."

His teeth are grinding against each other so hard I can hear them cracking under the pressure just like the edge of the tub where he's gripping it so tightly that his knuckles are white-hot.

I poke a finger at the center of his chest and bring my face in front of his, following him as he swivels from side to side to avoid facing me dead on. "I don't have your gift, Dean. I can't just know what people are thinking and feeling. So it's pretty fucking hypocritical of you to ask me to let down my walls while you get to keep shutting me out. Tell. Me. Why."

"Because it's all I have to offer," he roars. "If I'm not taking care of them then I have no purpose at all. I'm not a weapon-smith like Hunter, I'm not a hacker like Tate, I can't mindlink and connect to Ace's wolf like Eli can. I'm absolutely fucking useless, and as soon as they realize it they'll drop me like a sack of stones.

"After our mom left, Tate needed me. It wasn't easy by any means but it felt good to be important to someone since we obviously weren't to her. Then we met Ace, and Tate didn't need me as much. As we grew to include Eli and Hunter I realized how little I bring to the pack, so I made myself indispensable."

He laughs sadly to himself and lifts wounded eyes to me at last. "And then you showed up. Miss independent. Miss stubborn, aggravating, intoxicating siren. One by one we're falling for you like dominoes. One by one they depend more on you and less on me. Soon no one will need me and I'll be back on my own, abandoned by my pack like I was abandoned by my own mother."