If only what he wanted was her.

The T-shirt bandage was soaked red with her blood. Great. Gritting her teeth, she peeled the wet cloth away, prepared to see the jagged sight of—

Healed skin.

Her breath rushed out and she angled her head down, trying to peer at what should have been a gaping wound. But she wasn’t bleeding any longer. The skin had already sealed closed.

She hurriedly slammed the bathroom door shut behind her and barely managed to stop herself from sinking to the floor in shock. Unbelievable. Her skin was healing on its own. The wound just vanishing.

Her fingers slid over the skin. It was still a little pink, but there was no blood. “Amazing.”

The door shook behind her. Dante’s hand was pounding on the wood. “Cassie?”

She stripped away the remains of the bloody shirt. Tossed it to the floor. Her bra was stained red, too. Fabulous. “Give me a . . . ah . . . minute.”

Silence, then almost grudging, “Do you need help?”

You’ve already helped me. He was the reason why her wound had closed. Why her whole life had changed.

A human didn’t just magically heal herself.

He’d altered her down in New Orleans. Everything had changed for her in a blood-soaked instant of time.

When she’d opened her eyes, ready to thank her rescuer, Dante had been gone.

Her body wanted to shake at the memory, but Cassie stiffened her spine. She yanked on the shower’s faucet and the water rushed out. Hurrying, she finished stripping. She’d get the blood off, then she could deal with the mess that was her twisted relationship with Dante.

She’d put one foot in the shower when the door came crashing open behind her. Yelping, she tried to cover herself—one hand over her br**sts and one hand over the juncture of her thighs.

His cheeks were flushed. His eyes—sweeping over her. Heating up. Burning not with the fire of the beast that he carried, but with desire. Lust.

“I-I told you to give me a minute.” She backed away from him and went right into the path of the shooting shower spray.

His gaze was on her body. “Your shoulder’s cut open.”

She could feel that gaze of his like a hot touch.

He was heading toward her. Stalking her. “You shouldn’t be in there. You need stitches.”

Still keeping her hands in place—so not enough coverage—Cassie twisted her body so that he could see the wound. “All gone,” she whispered. It was almost like a fantasy she’d had once. Dante had come in. He’d been desperate for her. He’d picked her up, put her against the shower wall. Licked her neck and—

He grabbed her hands and shoved her back against the shower wall. The breath rushed from her lungs. In her fantasy, he hadn’t been that . . . rough. “Dante?”

“What are you?”

Naked. No coverage at all. “I-I’m human.”

The water hit him, too, but he didn’t seem to care. His shirt brushed over her br**sts and her heart slammed into her chest.

“I might not remember everything,” he said, “but even I know humans don’t heal that fast.”

Steam rose from the shower. From the hot water? Or from him? His touch was heating . . .

“I can explain.” Her words tumbled out.

He didn’t let her go. “You seem to say that a lot, but so far, I haven’t heard any explanations.”

She was na**d and he was—just pissed.

It definitely wasn’t like her fantasy anymore.

It was time for her to get pissed, too. She couldn’t break away from his hold, but she lifted her chin and snapped, “Fine. You want to know why I’m this way? Why my wound just vanished?”

“Yes!”

“Because of you, okay? You did this to me. I nearly died about two months ago in New Orleans when some psychotic bastard vampire ripped into me. I would have died, but you saved me.” And he had changed her, only she hadn’t realized the full consequences of his actions at the time.

She should have realized it, though. Now she’d have to do more study and—

He lifted her up, putting their gazes on the same level. “How?”

“You cried for me.” Whispered, but it was the truth. “You cried and you saved me.”

She hadn’t expected him to move so fast. One minute, he was holding her close, and in the next second, the guy was out of the shower. Actually, he was about five feet away from her.

He was laughing, but the sound was bitter and twisted. What would his real laughter sound like? She’d pretty much given up on ever hearing it.