Olympia Alien Mail Order Brides 3-Book Boxed Set by K. Cantrell

Olympia Alien Mail Order Brides 3-Book Boxed Set by K. Cantrell

Author:K. Cantrell [Cantrell, K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Paranormal, Science Fiction
Publisher: Alpe D'Huez Press
Published: 2020-11-30T00:00:00+00:00


Six

What is it about seeing blood that makes a wound hurt all at once?

A noise that isn’t entirely human squeaks from my throat and Ares immediately clues in that it’s not because I’m still in post-orgasm bliss.

“What is wrong?” he asks brusquely and I point in the general direction of my foot as blood drains into the water with a plop.

A dizzy sick wave unfurls in my head and my stomach at the same time and it’s a toss-up whether I’m going to pass out or throw up.

“This is your gig, right?” I mutter hoarsely. “Can’t you fix me?”

His brows draw together. “You are requesting me to heal you? I cannot.”

The dizziness starts affecting my vision and I go into a long tunnel. I wonder how fast a person can bleed to death. Rationally, I know the cut isn’t that deep and is likely bleeding so profusely because of my pounding pulse.

This is not a situation that calls for rationality. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I am physically able but unwilling.” The mulish set of his jaw puts a fine point on the statement.

Oh, really? There’s more than one way to skin a cat and he’s still mostly man despite being wrapped up in an alien shell. Slyly, I bat my eyes in his general direction. “Not even for me? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Not even for you.”

Wow. So no interest in what I planned to offer? The nuances must have gotten lost in translation if he didn’t clue in that I meant I’d perform sexual favors in exchange. I open my mouth to be a lot more graphic in my description when the pain really sets in, making my back teeth grind together. Forget a blow job. Given the mood I’m in, he’s probably right to pass.

“I’m starting to think you made up all that healing nonsense,” I grouse instead. “You probably can’t do it.”

Blandly, he stares at me. “You cannot goad me into healing.”

Walked into that one. My evil eye doesn’t disintegrate him into a pile of ash no matter how hard I will it. Dang it, how did he see through me so easily?

“That’s it? You’re just going to let me bleed?” In response, he wads up his shirt and presses it to the wound. “Ow! Careful. It hurts.”

My feelings are now as wounded as my foot. So he can make me all better but refuses to. How’s that for crappy husband material? The glow from my orgasm has completely faded and I almost can’t remember what his mouth feels like on my lady parts. Almost.

“Pressure will stop the bleeding,” he tells me calmly. “What would you have done if you had been in the company of a human?”

I glare at him because logic does not fly with me when I’m hurt and he’s being stubborn. “I’m not, though. You’re here and you can fix me. This is how relationships work. You sacrifice for your significant other.”

With a scowl, he dabs at the wound and as the T-shirt soaks up the blood, the cut doesn’t look as bad.



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