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Dylan smoothed her fingers over the top of his hand, studying the incredible size and strength of him. His skin was so warm, so much coiled power in him even when he seemed determined to hold himself perfectly still.

“I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through, Rio. I mean that.”

His jaw was clamped so hard it made a tendon twitch in his face. Dylan set the cold compress down on the bed next to her, hardly aware that she was moving because her senses were so fixed on Rio and the electricity that seemed to be pooling where their hands connected.

She heard a low rumble gathering from within him, something between a growl and a moan. His gaze drifted down to her mouth, and for a second—one fast, fleeting heartbeat—she wondered if he was going to kiss her.

She knew she should draw back. Move her hand away from his. Anything but sit there unable to breathe as she waited and wondered—wished so desperately—that he would lean in and brush his lips against hers.

She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to him now. She moved her free hand up toward his face, and felt a sudden blast of cold air coming at her, pushing at her like a physical wall.

“I don’t want your pity,” Rio snarled in a voice she didn’t recognize as his own. The rolling Spanish accent was there as always, but the syllables were harsh, the timbre not quite human, reminding her of just how little she understood about him or his kind. He pulled his hand out from under hers and stood up from the bed. “That cut of yours is still bleeding. You need attention I can’t give you.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Dylan replied, feeling like an idiot for putting herself out there like that with him. She grabbed the damp washcloth and dabbed at her cheek. “It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”

There was no sense talking since it was obvious he wasn’t listening to her anyway. She watched him walk past the broken glass of the shattered mirror, into the living room outside. He picked up the cordless telephone and dialed a short sequence of numbers.

“Dante? Hey. No, nothing wrong. But I, ah…is Tess there? I need to ask a favor of her.”

Rio paced like a caged animal in the short minutes it took for his rescue to arrive. He stayed out of the bedroom, confining himself to a small space of real estate near the main entry of his quarters. As far away from Dylan as he could get without actually bolting out of the damn apartment and waiting outside.

Madre de Dios.

He’d nearly kissed her.

Still wanted to, and the admission—even to himself—was like a sucker punch to the gut. Kissing Dylan Alexander was a guaranteed way to turn a bad situation into something catastrophic. Because Rio knew without a shred of doubt that if he kissed the fiery beauty, it wouldn’t stop there.

Just thinking about feeling the press of her lips on his made his blood quicken in his veins. His glyphs pulsed with the colors of his desire—churning in shades of dark wine and gold. And there was no denying the other evidence of that desire. His cock was as hard as granite, and had been since the instant she so unexpectedly laid her hand atop his.

Holy hell.

He didn’t dare look back into the bedroom for fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep his feet from doing an about-face march through the closed French doors and right into Dylan’s arms.

Like she would actually have him, he thought viciously.

That pat of his hand had been a sweet gesture, the kind of “there, there” comfort a mother might offer a pouting child. Or worse than that, it might have been the pained sympathy of a charitable angel consoling one of God’s most unfortunate blunders.

Maldecido.

Manos del diablo.

Monstruo.

Yes, he was all those things. And now Dylan had seen how ugly he truly was. To her credit she hadn’t recoiled at all the twisted flesh or his fangs, but then she was made of stronger stuff than that.

But to think she might welcome his touch? That she might get close enough to his ruined face to let him kiss her?

Not fucking likely. And he thanked God for that, because it saved him from seeing her disgust.