The Keepers: Ethan. Rae Rivers

“Why do I get the feeling this’ll be painful?”

      “Once the glass is out, it should heal soon.”

      Quicker than he’d expect. All Keepers had the ability to heal rapidly, but she was different. She healed instantly.

      “It’s still gonna hurt like hell. Why weren’t Keepers blessed with a higher pain threshold?”

      “Because we’re mortals. Not gods.”

      “So why couldn’t we be mortals with higher thresholds?”

      “Don’t be a sissy. Pain keeps us real.”

      “I can think of other things that keep me real.”

      He smiled. “The painkillers will help.”

      “Maybe.” She waved a hand at his clothes. “But I preferred the towel. It made for a great distraction.”

      A smile curled his lips and she stared at them, wondering what he’d taste like.

      His grin widened at her scrutiny. “Clearly you’re in more pain than I thought.”

      Not for long. Once he removed the glass, her magic would heal the flesh immediately – if she allowed it to. But he couldn’t know that. Not yet. Exposing her magic would expose her lineage – and she hadn’t had enough painkillers for that conversation.

      He made a circular motion with his finger. “Turn around and lower your robe.”

      “I hope you use better word choices for the women you bed.”

      His smile was pure mischief. “Trust me, babe, when it comes to bedding a woman, I have a separate vocabulary.”

      “That would explain your popularity.” She laughed and turned around, lowering the robe off one shoulder, just enough to reveal the wound whilst still keeping her tattoos hidden. Until she figured out what they meant, they were for her eyes only.

      He didn’t answer and she glanced over her shoulder. A fierce frown had tightened his expression.

      “Sexy, huh?” she said, opting for a cheerful tone. “A casualty of being caught between the road and the bike. Not my most graceful moment, but it all happened so damn fast.”

      With a quiet grunt, he picked at the shards of glass embedded in her flesh. “You’re right. This will hurt.”

      Like a bitch. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from wincing. “You should have stayed in the towel, though. Given me something to think about while you do that.”

      “Something wrong with your imagination?”

      “No need for my imagination. I’ve seen you naked.”

      “You haven’t seen the best part.”

      “Just as well. That might make things weird between us.”

      He picked at the glass, dropping the splinters into the empty bowl beside him. “Weird can be fun.”

      Amusement coloured his tone, words meant to tease, but stroked her imagination. “I haven’t had fun for a very long time.”

      His hand stilled and he leaned forward, touching his lips to her ear. “Well, maybe you should do something about that.”

      She stifled a shiver and elbowed him. “Stop messing with me.”

      He laughed and touched her shoulder. “I’m distracting you. We’re done, they’re all out.”

      “Already?” She’d expected worse.

      “Nothing like a little friendly banter to dampen the pain.”

      “Whiskey works just as well.”

      “Maybe, but that was way more entertaining. It should heal soon.”

      “I know.” She’d already felt the stir of energy, the magical touch that would wipe her slate clean. It was always exhilarating, but for now, she held back, reeling in the swirl of power. A pro at keeping her magic hidden. Adjusting the robe, she twisted to face him, relieved the pain had lessened. “Thank you for helping me.”

      “Of course. You were hurting.” He discarded the bowl, wiped his hands on a towel, and leaned back against the couch. “We should get some sleep. We have a lot to discuss and my brothers won’t rest for long.”

      For a while, they stayed silent, their mood shifting as reality crept in.

      She tilted her head to look over her shoulder. His eyes were closed, his previous playfulness replaced by weariness. He’d lowered his guard, a warrior at rest. Beside her.

      A beautiful man in the wake of a very ugly night.

      “Will there ever be a time when we’re not fighting the world?” she asked softly.

      “We’re not fighting the world, Jen. We’re protecting it.”

      “Would be nice to have an off day now and then.” A small smile broke free and he tugged her closer. With a large sigh, she nestled into the cushions beside him. “How are we going to stop Hazel?”

      “We found a way to stop her nephews. We’ll find a way to stop her too.”

      Sighing softly, she relaxed against the couch, against him. It felt good to have him near. It eased the anxiety gnawing at her, if only for a moment, and when she tilted her head so that it rested on his shoulder, he didn’t pull away.

      Instead, he rested his head against hers. The gesture triggered a small smile, giving her a case of the warm and fuzzies she’d seldom experienced.

      They stayed like that for a long while, words unnecessary, revelling in the stillness they always found with each other.

      She opened her eyes, fighting the fatigue. “I should go to bed.”

      “Hm.” He sounded just as sleepy, but neither of them moved.

      “Don’t mention this to Declan, okay?” she whispered, closing her eyes.

      “Don’t worry about Declan. He’s the least of our problems.”

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      Jenna stirred two hours later, curled up on the couch, her head in Ethan’s lap.

       In his lap.

      Lovely.

      Her cheeks flared with heat and she sat up, hoping like hell she hadn’t drooled on him. She wiped her mouth, relieved to find it dry.

      He’d slept upright, his head resting against the back cushion. Sleep had eased his frown, masking the quiet thoughtfulness that often simmered in his eyes. He had tousled hair and a jaw covered in stubble. Rugged and asleep – a glimpse of him she’d never seen before.

      Unable to tear her eyes away, she took her fill, fascinated by the vision of morning male beauty. Even in sleep, he looked powerful. Wide shoulders and a body of muscles that strained against his white t-shirt. He still wore his leather necklace, the pendant hidden beneath his t-shirt – one she recognised. His one hand rested on her waist, the other on his thigh. Beautiful hands. Working hands. His sleeve had crept up, revealing a glimpse of tattoo. She swallowed, caught by the urge to run her fingers across the ink. Or cuddle up to him again.

      And she never cuddled. Ever. If anything, physical affection was something she usually avoided – a result of being raised for so many years in the mortal world without any. After leaving her parents in Ameera, she’d soon learnt that acts of kindness and attention usually came with a price.

      But something about Ethan’s presence, the calm that radiated off him as he slept, drew her in.

      “Stop staring at me,”