Unseen Scene - Book Three, Chapter Thirteen (Mason 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 Mason anticipated as the sweet temptation of it swirls about him like a waft of fresh food. The tips of his growing fangs click against his bottom teeth, and he grits his 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,” Mason announces.

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

Another blunder Mason can’t take back.

He barely conceals a groan and rubs at his forehead, as though trying to force more coherent thoughts into his 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 Mason, but he’s not actually sure what he could do. He certainly couldn’t do anything to stop this from happening to them. So what good can he 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.”

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

“I can do that,” Mason finally replies, shaking away his previous thought as he moves with purpose to the en-suite.

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

“Thanks,” they mumble.

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

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

And all because of that fucking winged-monster.

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

And Mason wants nothing more than to provide that.

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” he 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, Mason is with them. The scorching heat of the shower stings against his already raw skin, and he remembers now why he only has his showers luke-warm. But he withstands the pain his hypersenses force from him in order to offer any support he can to [Name].

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

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

He brushes his 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.

He knows he 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 he’d do.

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

So he stays and hugs himself closer to them.