Unseen Scene - Book Three, Chapter Thirteen (Morgan Shower Scene POV) (Patreon)

The room smells of blood and grime. But not just any blood.

[Name]’s blood.

It’s more of a distraction than Morgan anticipated as the sweet temptation of it swirls about her like a waft of fresh food. The tips of her growing fangs click against her bottom teeth, and she grits her jaw to stop them growing any further.

Thankfully, [Name] is distracted themselves too with the pain that must be wracking their body from the injuries they’d sustained.

“You still smell like blood,” Morgan announces.

“Wow…” they breathe out through a chuckle. “Thanks ever so much for your concern.”

Another blunder Morgan can’t take back.

She barely conceals a groan and rubs at her forehead, as though trying to force more coherent thoughts into her brain. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’d hope not,” they reply.

“Is there anything I can do?” The question seeps out of Morgan, but she’s not actually sure what she could do. She certainly couldn’t do anything to stop this from happening to them. So what good can she do now that they’ve already suffered?

They gesture at the bathroom with a heavy gesture. “Could you start the shower running for me, please? I don’t think I have the energy.”

Morgan blinks as she processes the request, realizing this is definitely at least something she can manage. Even if what she really wishes to do is put them into bed and make sure nothing in the world ever hurts them again.

“I can do that,” Morgan finally replies, shaking away her previous thought as she moves with purpose to the en-suite.

[Name] joins her after she’s managed to get the shower to what she hopes is a good temperature. Anything beyond slightly warm is too much for her, but she’s very aware that’s not what [Name] needs right now.

“Thanks,” they mumble.

She swallows back the wince that wants to tug at her expression on seeing their lumbered, pained footsteps. “I’ll wait in your room in case you need me.” She tries not to look back in concern as she goes.

In [Name]’s bedroom, the scene from the fallen warehouse replays in her mind. It taunts her. Haunts her. Reminds her of what she could have lost.

And all because of that fucking winged-monster.

Morgan’s fists clench so hard that her fingernails cut half-circles into her palms. [Name] deserves revenge. As well as the certainty that Sin won’t come back to hurt them again.

And Morgan wants nothing more than to provide that.

She stands to make her way to do exactly that when a sudden yelp erupts from the bathroom.

Morgan flashes over to the door in a blur of motion, hammering at it with her fist as worry makes her throat dry. “[Name]! Are you alright?”

“Uh, not exactly.” The response almost has Morgan kicking down the door right then. “Could you come in?” There’s a pause of hesitation. “Please?”

With an unnecessary amount of power, Morgan slams open the door and marches inside. Heat pounds against her, making her feel as though a million burning welts rise across her skin, and the steam catches in her throat, stabbing it with angry heat.

She manages to peer through the wall of mist to find [Name] slumped against the wall of the shower.

“What happened?” she demands.

"It hurt more than I was expecting,” they admit, sucking in a ragged breath. “I just…need some help until all of the blood washes off."

Before they’ve even finished the words, Morgan is with them. The scorching heat of the shower stings against her already raw skin, and she remembers now why she only has her showers luke-warm. But she withstands the pain her hypersenses force from her in order to offer any support she can to [Name].

But at the touch of their skin against her, the searing heat turns to gentle warmth. Her hypersenses cool and dampen. And the shower becomes just a shower.

As much as she did, Morgan can feel [Name]’s body also relax against her, relief flooding through them and causing a more even rhythm in their heartbeat. They must have been in more pain than she thought if just helping them stand can provide relief like this.

She brushes her hand across their wet cheek to catch their attention. “Any better?”

“You have no idea how much,” they answer, fingers clutching at his sodden clothing.

She knows she should be out there—hunting down the winged bastard who caused this. Who caused [Name] to hurt this way.

And normally, that’s exactly what she’d do.

But the thought of leaving [Name] at that moment—at any moment—fills her with an ache she’s never felt before. She has no idea of the cause, but she knows the release of feeling such a cutting hollowness in her chest is being with them.

So she stays and hugs herself closer to them.