That they would be as cool as they looked when they were in the air above a structure, looking down at the world like Mufasa in The Lion King.
But so far, that wasn’t the vibe I was getting. That wasn’t the vibe I was getting at all.
Because my gut said this man wasn’t a ball of sunshine. I had a feeling he wasn’t even a night-light.
What he was, was seeming like a pain in the ass, if I was going to be totally honest, and that made me feel like a criminal for thinking that of someone in the Trinity.
I was going to have to think about this.
For now… “I’ll make you a sandwich, and if there’s something else you might want, you can let me know. The grocery store isn’t very big, and the selection isn’t that great, but I might be able to order anything else; it’ll just take a few days to arrive.” More like a week, but… I wasn’t even sure he’d be here that long. I wanted to ask if he was supposed to have some kind of crazy regeneration, but all I had to do was take in his expression and the question died in my mouth.
The less I asked, the better.
He was back to watching me like I had tied him to the chair and was holding him hostage.
I’d always thought The Primordial would have a queen-like disposition. She used intelligent words and concise sentences. She was the epitome of classy and dignified.
I highly doubted she grunted at people.
But this man…
Heading into the kitchen, I wondered for the twentieth time what in the hell I’d gotten myself into.
This whole situation was bad enough. I’d made promises—promises to people who mattered, to myself.
I couldn’t let all my sacrifices—all their sacrifices either—be in vain. I just had to keep my shit together until this being was out of my life. Even if I felt about two wrong moves away from having life blow up in my face.
I could worry about that later. In the meantime, I made his damn sandwich, which looked really good, and once I was done, I headed over with a turkey BLT with avocado. I set the plate on the coffee table still there in front of him and sat on the chair that hadn’t moved since he’d arrived either, planting my butt on it. Those dark, incredible eyes followed my movement.
I picked up the plate and held it up for him.
He stared.
God, I hoped his injury wasn’t worse than it seemed, I thought as I took the sandwich and held it to his mouth.
The man’s eyes bounced from the sandwich to my face and back, but he opened his mouth, showing off those strong, white teeth, and took a neat bite, chewing slowly, that intense gaze still steady on me.
Maybe he was feeling me out.
Or maybe he was in a bad wittle mood over what had happened to him.
I’d agreed to help, and I would. Stomachache or not. Worst mistake of my life or not.
After he’d quietly demolished the sandwich and drank another two glasses of water, he seemed to melt back into the wheelchair while it groaned under his weight. He let out one of those deep, rattling breaths that told me there was something very wrong, and I had no medical background.
As I set the plate on his thigh so I could stand up, my knees already stiff, The Defender’s voice rattled, all husky and irritated, “I want… to get out of this.”
“Out of the chair or your suit?” I asked him as I straightened, trying not to think of how unreal this conversation was.
“Both,” the man in the charcoal suit rumbled in the crabby tone I was starting to believe might be his usual one.
I blinked. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
The fan on the ceiling spun once before coming to a sudden stop like when the lights turned off.
Except they hadn’t.
I tensed. Was that a coincidence or…？
It started spinning again.
“You think I don’t know what I’m capable of?” The Defender whisper-hissed as he stared over at me.
Oh boy.
“I can get out of this chair,” he said slowly, his nostrils flaring. “Every bone in my body could be broken… and I would still be stronger… than every human on this planet.”
He’d said human, hadn’t he?
With his gaze locked on mine, his fingers reached for the plate balanced on his leg. The Defender picked up the fork I had brought over to scoop up any food that fell out of the sandwich. Gaze on me, he set his thumb on one end, middle finger closer to the tines, and slowly folded it in half. Then, just as easily, he straightened it out and set it back.
It was hard to keep my face blank, but I did.
Because really? Suddenly his strength made up for the fact he hadn’t even been able to feed himself? Or that I’d had to help him into the chair in the first place? I’d been sheltered most of my life, but I wasn’t a fucking idiot.
I knew what he was capable of normally.
But he was starting to get on my nerves anyway.
I pressed my lips together and held up my hands. “All right, Hercules. You know your body better than I do. I can’t carry you. You’ll have to get up. There’s the couch and my bed. Your choice.”
Dark, curly lashes fell over his eyes. “Like you could carry me.”
Well, this was going to go well, I could already tell.
This was a shitty idea, and I knew it. He should be in a hospital, or with other people who at least had a fragment of an idea what they were doing, not me. Someone who could actually lift him would be a better caretaker.
Just about anybody would.
“Do you want to go ahead and do it now?” I asked.
He grunted. Again.
All righty then.
The bed it was going to be because the couch wasn’t big enough to spread out on, even for me. At least my room was clean, and I’d changed the sheets a few days ago. I didn’t have another set to swap them out, so he was going to need to suck it up.
Silently moving around behind him, I grabbed the handles on the back of the wheelchair and put my hamstrings into it as I started pushing, huffing and puffing as I turned it in the living room to go down the hall. And if he groaned under his breath more than once, I pretended I didn’t hear it. He’d asked for this.
At the bedroom door, I put my back into it and pushed him the rest of the way in. The urge to ask him if he was sure this was a good idea was on the tip of my tongue, but his perfect pale face was so grouchy, I kept it to myself. But really, what the hell had I done for him to be this pissy? All I’d done was try to help him because he’d asked. I hadn’t shot his ass out of the sky.
Bending down, I snuck my arm under his armpits. It took a while and a few groans before he managed to stand, his long legs shaking. This was such a shit idea, but this was what he wanted, so…
One step after another was difficult for him from the harsh way he started breathing, and we were both panting the three steps it took to get to the bed. Thankfully, I didn’t live in a mansion and it didn’t take long to turn him around. Then it was more struggling, and that too-tall body shook as he slowly lowered himself to sit on the edge.
“Suit’s ruined. I want… to take it off,” he huffed the second he was settled.
Off? As in off his body? It was a fucking miracle my eyebrows didn’t jump off my face.
I’d helped my grandparents undress. This was nothing new. I could do this clinically.
I pushed the chair back and dropped to kneel in front of him, trying my hardest not to panic or let my heart start beating fast with nerves. “Where should I start?” I asked him in the fucking funniest voice of my whole life because… because…