Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

I take the offering and pretend to drink while observing Kai. He’s crouching beyond the threshold and hasn’t said a word to me in the last four hours. When he backed away from us in the kitchen, I was so damn heartbroken. He hasn’t asked to hold Lucia in his arms. He hasn’t even touched her. He just . . . retreated.

He simply stood there with his back against the furthest wall while I gave Lucia her fruity snack, and later while she drew with the crayons Zara bought for her. When it was time for Lucia’s dinner, I sat her in her high chair while I prepared the meal. Kai moved a few steps to the side and continued to watch her from afar. His gaze hasn’t moved off her for even a second in all that time. It felt like he was trying to absorb our daughter with his eyes.

Just as he’s doing now.

“Blue for boys,” Lucia suddenly exclaims, takes a blue plastic cup with a coaster, and, scrambling up to her feet, heads toward Kai.

He blinks, pales, and his eyes widen in alarm. Lucia stops in front of him and lifts the toy cup. Based on the expression on his face as he looks down at her outstretched arms, you’d think she offered him an explosive device. Slowly, he takes the cup from her—it looks ridiculous in his huge hand—then mimics my action of pretending to drink.

Lucia smiles, then places her hand on top of his head and giggles. “You have girl’s hair.”

Kai goes so utterly still, even his breathing has stopped altogether, but the emotional turmoil in his eyes is completely at odds with his unmoving body. Our daughter proceeds to pet his head in the same way she usually does to her plushies, then dashes around him into the living room where Zara is straightening out the cushions on the sofa.

Since coming over an hour ago, my sister has been trying to appear busy with chores around my apartment while keeping her cautious eyes on us. She’s always been protective of Lucia, but I’m surprised at the lack of any other reaction from her. No questions, no accusations, no demands. She hasn’t uttered a word about finding Kai here. And it’s not because of her old reluctance to speak around people she doesn’t know. This is different. Nothing that I recognize in her at all.

“We’re going to take a bath,” Zara says as she scoops Lucia into her arms. “And I’ll put her to bed.”

I nod. “Okay.”

My demon follows them with his eyes until they disappear through the bathroom door, then slowly rises and comes over to take a seat beside me on the bed.

“Does . . .” He swallows while staring at the white wall before him. “Does anyone know?”

“No. Other than my sister and Massimo, our stepbrother, everyone believes she’s Batista’s.”

“Why?”

“Because it was safer that way.”

He bends his head, focusing on his clasped hands between his wide-spread knees.

“I need to check your wound,” I say.

“It’s fine.”

“I still need to check it.” My shoulder brushes his arm as I stand up, and a shiver runs through me from that incidental touch. “I’ll go get my first aid kit.”

The medical supplies box is in the kitchen, and as I round the breakfast bar to retrieve it, laughter rings out in the bathroom. It tugs on my heart, making me smile. I can picture Zara getting fully drenched while giving Lucia a bath.

When I go back into my bedroom, Kai is by the nightstand, looking at the picture frames lined up on the top.

“Take off your shirt,” I whisper.

His jaw hardens. “I don’t think that’s wise, cub.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” I take a step toward him and start working on the first button.

I had this idea of how I was going to appear indifferent. I’d check the cut on his side and be done with it as if it’s an ordinary task. After all, he’s the one who created this distance between us. I told myself I could do it. I can pretend that there is nothing left between us anymore.

Wrong. His closeness, his scent, the heat of his body as it seems to seep into mine even when we’re not touching—and with all of that, my feelings are threatening to burst free. Theneed to lean into him and bury my nose against his skin, to feel safe and loved again, is overwhelming.

I barely manage to unfasten the first button. My fingers shake and my vision blurs with unshed tears. I take a deep breath and move to the next, and then the next, working solely by touch rather than relying on my sight. Once the last button comes loose, I let go of his shirt and keep my eyes fixed squarely on his chest, not daring to meet his gaze.

The gauze over the cut is covered in dried blood. Carefully, I peel it off, then apply a thick layer of antibiotic cream. The wound doesn’t look like it’s infected.

“Are you taking meds?”

“Yes.”