She’s confused, angry, raging, blinking through water spilling over her face as that man's blood washes away, and I can see the damage in her. I can fucking see it clear as fucking day. It’s written on her face and in that electric blue of her eyes. I smash my mouth over hers, heat and rage burning like an inferno. Her teeth snap at my lips, and I take it. I want it, want her fury. Because it is the essence of her.

Water drills against our skin, and when I draw back this time, I see how dark her eyes have gone. See how she’s looking at me. I want her. Fuck, I want her. I need her. Need so much more of her. This furious woman. This vengeful, violent, broken thing.

I kiss her deeply, welcoming the sinking of her teeth into my lips, tasting her along with the copper of blood. Is it hers, the man she killed? Or mine? She moans against my mouth, sucking on the lip she tore with her teeth. I’m angry, fucking furious at her. At myself. Raging for not having seen what was happening or where her head was. She shouldn’t have been there at all. Shouldn’t have been the one to do it. To pull the trigger. Once your hands have blood on them, no amount of scrubbing can wash it off. That taint will follow her forever. Cling to her. Damn her.

I press her wrists to the wall, and it takes all I have to break our kiss. Breath ragged, I rest my forehead against hers as I get myself under control. After long minutes, I draw back far enough to look at her, and our eyes lock. I loosen my grip on her hands, and she drops her arms to my shoulders with her bound wrists behind my head.

She’s panting, and I’m hard against her. I want this. Need it. And I think she does too. But I draw farther back. I can’t. Not now. Not when she’s not in her right mind.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” I say quietly. I’m not sure she hears my words over the shower stream and our breathing. “It shouldn’t have been you. Because taking a life, Dandelion, marks your soul. It locks yours with that of the one you stole.”

At that, her rage dissipates into something else. Something old. Water catches on her lashes as we stare at one another and I think this may be the most honest moment we’ve shared. And the most vulnerable.

“I don’t care,” she says meekly as a tear slips from her eye.

“Well, I do.”

Her eyes search mine, and in hers, I see confusion. She leans her face toward mine and kisses my mouth. It’s a tender, testing kiss, but I pull away.