The Fae King's Dream (Between Dawn and Dusk #2) - Jamie Schlosser Page 0,84

to her. She needs me. Or maybe I need her.

Just as I’m about to excuse myself for the night, a tingle races down my spine, and I smile.

Whitley’s headed this way, and she’s close. I can actually tell her distance. The pleasant fizzle in my veins increases with every step she takes. Twenty feet. Fifteen.

But when I look over my shoulder, my grin drops.

As she emerges from the lower level of the ship, it’s a sight no man wants to see—his mate soaked in blood from head to toe. Streaks decorate her face, it drips from her hair, and it’s all over her dress.

“What happened?” My drink drops to the deck as I rush over to her. “Kai! Heal her.”

Whitley holds out her hands in a placating gesture as I begin searching her body for injuries. I pat the fabric of her dress, trying to find slashes or tears.

“I’m not hurt.” Her voice wobbles. “I’m fine.”

“Then whose blood is this?”

“Not mine. I killed the prisoners.”

Sobering up immediately, I’m rendered speechless as I assess Whitley with my eyes. Her blood-coated fingers twitch at her sides and she’s trembling violently.

Is it true? Could my little carrot have done such a thing? This is the same girl who gets teary-eyed every time she makes me bleed during training.

I’m not the only one staring at her as if she’s lost her mind. I sense everyone behind me, but no one says a word.

As Whitley glances down at the blue fabric stained with red, she starts pulling at the low neckline. “I have to get this off. It’s ruined. Ruined.”

“Whitley, it’s okay.” I try to still her hands with mine, but her motions are wild as she tries to break free from the dress.

“I need a shower. I have to wash everything. It’s under my fingernails. I’ll never be clean again.” Her panicked eyes go to the water. “I’ll jump in.”

As she runs toward the railing, I catch her around the middle. “You will not.”

“Don’t touch me.” She pushes at my hands. “It’ll get all over you.”

“I don’t care.”

Whitley’s stronger than she looks, and that becomes apparent when I have trouble keeping her restrained. She manages to wiggle away, and I grab the back of her dress.

The side seam rips. If she keeps fighting me like this, it’s likely the whole thing will fall apart.

I don’t want anyone seeing my mate naked.

“Everyone below deck,” I order. “Someone fetch me a bar of soap. And, Kirian.” I glance at my cousin. “Make it rain. Hard.”

He gives me a nod before disappearing to the lower level. A second later, a bar of soap skids across the wood and hits my boot. Clouds roll in as the captain quickly lowers the sails and retreats to give us privacy.

“Calm down.” I hold Whitley, not caring that we’re both a bloody mess now. She’s still shaking, but my close proximity seems to have helped her a little.

As soon as Linus is gone, I reach around to tear the fabric at Whitley’s back. I help her get her arms out before pushing the dress down. It falls in a heap around her ankles. While I’m down there, I pick up the soap.

Rain starts to fall, and Whitley puts her hands out, letting the water cleanse her skin. Pink puddles form around us.

“The prisoners are dead,” my mate says, monotone.

I stand. “So you said.”

“He told me ‘thank you.’”

“What?”

“One of them thanked me before I killed him. How fucked up is that?”

Thunder rumbles overhead, and the downpour becomes heavy.

Using the raindrops, I get a good lather going in my hands and begin to wash Whitley. Starting with her hair, I scrub her scalp and massage the suds into her locks. As the soap rinses away, I wipe her face. Then I move to her neck. Her arms. Her chest.

My body reacts to the soapy slide of my palms over her breasts, but I force my attention elsewhere. Kneeling, I go to her stomach.

“Glen, Rufus, and Earlwyn,” she says softly.

I glance up at her. “What?”

“Their names. You didn’t know their names?”

“No. It wasn’t important.” I have no idea what possessed Whitley to do what she did, but I can see the haunted look in her eyes. The guilt. “Hey. You will not feel bad about this. Do you hear me? They were going to die anyway.”

She doesn’t respond.

Instead, she takes the soap, making suds in her hands before giving it back. She scrubs her face a second time, as if she’s ridding herself of