HELLISH DEBTS: BROKEN GODS BOOK ONE by Brook Rogers

Author:Brook Rogers [Rogers, Brook]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brook Rogers
Published: 2020-09-03T05:00:00+00:00

Dubhlain’s leg continued to bleed. I wasn’t sure how he’d managed to free himself from the spike, but it wasn’t anywhere near him. Since his shirt was long gone and his pants barely hanging on, I offered him my tank top to staunch the flow of blood. Unfortunately, I couldn’t take it off on my own. As much as it pained me, quite literally, to ask for help, I did.

His eyes immediately heated.

Studies have shown how differently men’s and women’s brains work in times of crisis. I was concerned with stopping the bleeding. Dubhlain, the one actually at risk of bleeding to death, was only concerned about sex.

I gave an unladylike snort, then immediately regretted it when knives lanced my ribs. “Just forget it. I hope you bleed out,” I said through gritted teeth, then shuffled off in search of my shotgun. Bringing it had proven to be an excellent decision, especially considering I didn’t have any diamond loads for my pistols. If I ran into any Fae, I wanted it with me.

Dubhlain gingerly got to his feet. Figuring he would push the shirt issue, I didn’t expect the uncertainty in his voice. “Raywen, wait . . . would you let me put your shoulder back in?”

I stopped shuffling. Maybe I was being too hard on him? The stupid bond did mess with our chemistry at the most awkward times, and he’d proven he could be a halfway decent guy when he wanted to. Plus, having both my arms working again appealed big time to my sense of self-preservation.

“Fine,” I agreed wearily.

He limped over to me without meeting my eyes. Wincing, he braced himself, took hold of my arm to position it, then froze. I’d just opened my mouth to ask what was wrong when he jammed my shoulder back into place.

I yelled and swung at him with my uninjured arm, but the wild punch sailed over his head. Tears poured out of my eyes, and snot dribbled from my nose. The sudden swing sent fire screaming through my side, which, along with the matching pain in my shoulder, was making me lightheaded. My legs turned to rubber, and Dubhlain caught me before they gave out.

“I had to do it when you were distracted. Otherwise you’d be too tense. Now, sit yourself down and let it pass,” he said.

“Can’t.” I shook my head vehemently, wiping my nose.

He cocked his head in curiosity.

“Ribs . . . busted,” I forced out between tiny gulps of air.

Understanding dawned on his face. He worked his hands under the hem of my shirt and wrapped them around my sides, his large palms spanning almost my whole torso. The contact made me flinch, but I tried to keep my breathing shallow, tried with compulsive swallows to keep my stomach’s contents down. I was concentrating on the tattoos on his ridged abdomen—wishing I could just go on and die already—when the tingling warmth seeped into me from his hands.

My tense muscles loosened as the sensation spread, gentle

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