Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 60

**KACIA**

I don’t quite know where to look, and I definitely don’t know what to do with my hands. This is, without a doubt, the single most awkward, uncomfortable, and confusing moment of my life. And yet… I don’t want it to end.

Oz carries me carefully over to the shower, his grip gentle but unyielding. He tests the water with his hand, adjusting the temperature until steam curls lazily around us. Then, with utmost care, he helps me step inside. He stays close, too close, his bare chest brushing against my arm as he steadies me. The edge of the spray hits him, water streaming down his chest and catching the light.

Not that I’m looking or anything… Okay, fine, I’m completely staring. But come on, he’s right there. Where else am I supposed to look? Besides, I have this sneaking suspicion that he’d actually be disappointed if I didn’t stare. His stupid, annoying self would probably smirk and tease me about it later.

For goodness’ sake. We’ve only just made up, sort of. We haven’t even had a proper conversation yet because I’ve been too busy nearly dying. Again. I should not be standing here lusting after the man. But seriously… He’s being so sweet, fussing over me, saying all the right things in that low, careful voice that curls down my spine like warm honey. How else am I supposed to react, damn it?

And it’s completely unfair that he looks like this, tall, handsome and healthy while I’m standing here a bruised, broken, half dead wreck. It’s like he’s flaunting himself on purpose, knowing full well I’m in no condition to do anything about it. So I just… Stand there. Let him fuss over me.

The water hits my skin, hot and stinging where it runs over cuts and scrapes, but the warmth seeps into my bones and eases the trembling in my legs. Oz strokes my hair back from my face, his fingers gentle as they comb through tangled strands. The sensation sends a shiver down my neck. He looks down at me, brows furrowed with worry, but his eyes soften as they meet mine.

After a moment, he reaches for the hem of my ruined tank top again.

“I think it might come off easier now, tell me if it hurts too badly, okay?” He murmurs, his voice low and careful.

“Alright,” I whisper back, unable to trust my voice with anything louder.

Oz’s fingers brush against my ribs as he lifts the fabric, sending goosebumps across my skin despite the heat of the water. The top tugs painfully for a second, making me wince, but then it peels free, soaked through and heavy. He slips it carefully over my head and drops it onto the tiles just outside the shower.

“Okay, just stand under the water a bit longer. Let it rinse the rest off.” He says softly. I nod, silent, too overwhelmed to speak. The water beats against my scalp and shoulders, washing away sweat, grime, and blood until it runs clear down the drain.

Oz hesitates, then grabs the flannel from its hook and dampens it under the spray. He begins to gently wipe at my skin, my arms first, then my stomach and back, each touch so careful it almost doesn’t feel real. His fingers brush lightly across my hip as he rinses away a stubborn streak of dried blood, and my breath hitches.

He pauses instantly, glancing up at me with wide, worried eyes.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, voice tight with concern.

I shake my head quickly, swallowing the embarrassed heat crawling up my neck.

“No. Just… Surprised me.” I answer.

He nods, relief flashing across his face. Then he returns to his task, silent, focused, his hands working with an impossible tenderness that makes something deep in my chest ache. I let my eyes slip closed, leaning just slightly into his touch, despite everything.

Whatever Clarence gave me earlier, it didn’t exactly heal me, but it stopped the bleeding, and for now, that’s enough. Useful stuff, if it didn’t taste like rotten mushrooms and burning. I’d say I should keep some handy. But I suspect the price of getting a supply from Clarence would not be worth it.

Eventually, Oz deems me clean enough. Thank goodness, because my knees are starting to buckle. I’m not entirely sure if it’s from exhaustion or from him, his hands, his careful touch, the quiet rumble of his voice as he fussed over me. Probably both.

He helps me out of the shower, his hands steady on my waist as I step onto the mat. I stand there, dripping and shivering in my bra and underwear, feeling awkward and exposed. Without a word, he wraps a towel gently around me, tucking it in at my chest with careful precision. Then, in a single smooth motion, he scoops me up into his arms.

“Oz!” I squeak, my voice coming out breathless with surprise.

He shushes me immediately, his brow furrowing.

“You’re exhausted. Just let me carry you to your room.” He says, all firm and protective and annoyingly reasonable.

I sigh, my cheeks burning, and slump against his chest. Fine. I’ve let him help me this far… What’s a little bit more?

When we reach my room, I expect it to look like it always does, clean and tidy, the way I like it. But I’m not just surprised. I’m stunned. It’s… Perfect. Not just clean, but more clean than clean. Is there even a word for that? Immaculate? Spotless? No, it’s beyond that.

My bedsheets are folded down with perfect hospital corners, crisp and precise. My lamp looks polished to a shine, reflecting warm light across the room. There’s the faint scent of fresh linen and cleaning products drifting through the air. And on my bedside table sits a glass of milk.

For a brownie, there isn’t a more thoughtful gift. Angelo is literally standing on my vanity, polishing the mirror with a determined expression. His tiny figure, hunched over with concentration, makes something warm twist in my chest.

“This is the last thing, it should be clean and safe for you, Kacia.” He says sincerely, his voice quiet but firm.

For a moment, tears prick my eyes. He’s worked so hard, just to make this nice for me. Just to keep me safe in his own way.

“Thank you, Angelo. It’s perfect.” I say softly, my voice catching.

He beams at me, his entire face lighting up like the sun. Then, with a satisfied nod, he scurries down from the vanity.

“I’ll… Um… Retire to the couch now.” He announces with the self importance of a tiny king.

I almost laugh, but it comes out as a shaky sigh. Oz lowers me gently onto the edge of the bed, still wrapped in my towel. He rummages in my wardrobe for a moment, then returns holding my fluffy robe.

“Here, get your wet things off and pull this on. You should be able to manage that… Right?” He says, awkwardly holding it out.

“Yeah.” I mumble, feeling heat rush to my cheeks again.

He turns his back immediately, his shoulders tense as I slip out of my soaked underwear and tug the robe around myself. The thick fabric is warm and comforting against my chilled skin.

“Okay, it’s safe to turn around.” I call softly.

He turns back with a relieved half smile.

“Let me dry off your hair a little, then you can rest.” He offers.

I nod, too tired to argue, and he gently helps me shuffle further onto the bed so I can lean back against the pillows. He grabs a towel and begins patting my hair dry, careful and gentle, his fingers catching softly in the strands. His touch is soothing, almost hypnotic.

“I used to do this for my sister when she was little.” He murmurs absently, his voice quiet.

I blink, surprised, and tilt my head slightly to look at him.

“You have a sister?” I ask.

He nods, not meeting my eyes.

“And a brother. They’re both younger than me.” He adds.

“Oh.” I swallow down the sudden tightness in my throat.

Family. I was under the impression that he didn’t have one. Before I can ask more, he sets the towel aside and clears his throat.

“Sorry.” He says quietly.

“You should rest before I explain everything. I’ll tell you everything after you’ve slept.” He promises.

I open my mouth to protest, to demand answers right now, but exhaustion crashes over me like a wave, dragging me under. I sigh and nod reluctantly.

“Okay. First thing when I wake up.” I agree.

“I promise.” He whispers.

He helps me ease down under the blankets, tucking them around me like I’m something fragile and precious. For a moment, he just stands there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

I glance at him, noticing the uncertainty in his eyes. Angelo has claimed the couch where Oz slept before, and he looks lost, like he’s not sure where he belongs now.

“You know, I’ve never had so many guests stay the night before. I guess… Some of us might have to share rooms.” I comment quietly.

His eyes light up immediately, bright and hopeful.

“Dibs!” He blurts out, and before I can say another word, he drops onto the bed beside me with a thump that jostles my sore ribs.

I wince, gasping softly.

“Ow.” I complain.

“Sorry…” He mutters sheepishly.

He scoots closer and carefully wraps an arm around me, adjusting us both so that I’m resting against his chest. His warmth seeps into me, grounding me, and despite the pain… I sigh contentedly.

I might be sore, and I have SO many questions. Oz and I still need to talk. But right now I’m safe, he’s here and everything else can wait until morning.