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60 Cutting Me Open 

Sera 

Fenris stepped right up to the edge of the mattress. The heat rolling off his body was palpable. 

“Your clothes are ruined,” he said. His voice was thick, scraped raw by the tension in the room. “And taking them off the normal way will pull your joints. I am going to cut them.” 

I gave a single, weak nod. I couldn’t have lifted my arms over my head even if my life depended on it. 

He reached down to his thigh and unsheathed a hunting knife. The blade was a dark steel, honed to a wicked, razor edge. 

He leaned over me. He grabbed the thick collar of my blood-soaked tunic. He didn’t hesitate. He slid the blade under the fabric near my shoulder and sliced smoothly down the side seam. The thick material parted with a soft tearing sound. He did the same to the other side, cleanly separating the front of the tunic from the back. 

He peeled the stiff, cold fabric away from my chest and tossed it onto the floor. 

I was left in a thin, cotton sports bra. It was grey, stained dark with sweat and spots of Taya’s blood. The sudden exposure to the air of the room made my skin prickle. 

Fenris didn’t ask for permission this time. He hooked his thick fingers under the center clasp of the bra and snapped it open. He pushed the fabric aside, pulling my arms free of the straps with shocking gentleness. 

My breasts were completely bare. 

The heat of the fire hit my skin, but it was the heat of his gaze that burned. I watched his eyes track downward. The moment the air hit my bare chest, my nipples tightened instantly, pulling into hard, aching peaks. My breath hitched. The physiological reaction had nothing to do with the temperature. 

Fenris’s jaw locked. A thick muscle jumped in his cheek. He forced his eyes lower. 

He moved to my legs. He slid the knife under the tight lacing of my leather pants, cutting the leather cords straight down the outside of my thighs. He gripped the material at my hips and pulled the pants down my legs, dragging them over my boots and tossing them onto the pile of ruined clothes. 

I lay there in nothing but thin, black cotton underwear. 

I was completely, utterly exposed to him. My skin was a roadmap of violence. Dark, ugly bruises were already blossoming across my ribs and my left thigh. My stomach was pale and tight. My face was smeared with a drying mask of red. 

Fenris sheathed his knife. He turned to the wooden basin. He picked up a clean linen cloth and submerged it in the steaming water. He wrung it out, his massive hands flexing as the hot water spilled 

over his knuckles. 

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He sat down on the very edge of the bed. The mattress tilted under his immense weight, rolling me slightly toward him. 

“This is going to sting,” he rumbled 

He brought the steaming cloth to my face. He started at my forehead, wiping away the mud and the dried blood. The heat of the wet linen was a sharp, biting relief against my freezing skin. He moved down to my cheek, dragging the cloth carefully over the split skin along my cheekbone. 

I hissed, my body flinching involuntarily. 

“Hold still,” he murmured. 

His left hand moved to my neck. His large, calloused palm cupped the side of my throat to keep my head steady. His thumb rested directly over my pulse point. He could feel my heart hammering against his skin. It wasn’t beating fast from fear. It was beating fast because he was touching me. 

He cleaned my jawline. He cleaned my chin. He wiped the dried blood from my split lip, his thumb grazing the soft, swollen flesh of my mouth. 

The clinical nature of the washing shifted. The air in the room grew incredibly dense, heavy with a thick, suffocating tension. 

Fenris rinsed the cloth in the basin. The water instantly turned a hazy pink. He wrung it out again and moved down to my chest. 

He dragged the hot, wet linen across my collarbone, wiping away the dirt. He moved lower. He washed the pale skin of my upper chest, his knuckles deliberately brushing against the soft swell of my bare 

breast. 

A violent, electric shock shot straight down my spine and pooled directly between my thighs. 

I gasped, my back arching slightly off the furs. 

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