Vixen Read Online Free Page B

he’s been ripped up.
    His unbuttoning reveals a horrendous white scar that forks across his chest like branched lightning. It stretches from ribs to shoulder and down past his navel, like a bony hand with too many fingers, all grasping and jagged across his torso, as if reaching in to pull out his heart.
    How could anyone survive the kind of injury that would cause such a scar? My dad has a pretty wicked scar from the time Ion almost killed him, but it’s not nearly as impressive as this one.
    “You understand about my shoulder blades?” Ion clarifies as he sets his shirt aside and hops up on the massage table. He’s sitting, facing me, and because the table is lower than his hip height, he’s no longer looming so high above me. He’s almost more approachable, except for the scarred chest.
    “Jala explained all about it. Let me give it a try.” I gesture for him to turn around and lie on his stomach, because frankly, I don’t know how much longer I can politely avert my eyes from his scar.
    To my relief, Ion doesn’t protest or try to spell out the proper procedure. He just flops face-down on the table. “Use plenty of pressure. Don’t be afraid of hurting me.”
    I step closer, hands extended, ready to adjust his back so he can breathe already, when the dim light of the room reveals something else.
    He’s got another wicked scar on his back.
    No kidding. This one’s every bit as big as the one on his chest, but gnarlier, like it didn’t even get sewn up properly, but healed in random clumps and stretches, with the skin puckered in some places and strained in others. It’s a pity, because otherwise his back would be lovely.
    I’m just going to ignore the scars and try not to imagine how someone would sustain an injury like that, let alone survive it. I place my hands against his left shoulder blade, the one closest to me, and position them with the butt of one hand on the flat of the blade, and the other all-but-tucked in the ridge below it.
    I’ve done this dozens of times on my siblings and parents. Especially once I got the idea to come here, I started volunteering to pop anybody’s shoulders anytime they needed it. I’ve gotten quite good at it, although those were for misalignments that were only a few hours old. I’ve never tried to adjust a back that’s been lodged out of place for months. I imagine it will take more force to unstick it.
    “Okay, take a deep breath,” I instruct Ion. For good measure, I pull in a deep breath, too. Is Ion the one who smells so delightfully masculine, or is it the aged cedar woodwork in this room? Maybe a mixture of both, but it goes to my head and makes me wonder if perhaps I’m the one getting seduced, here.
    “And when I say three, let your breath out. One. Two. Three.” As I give the command, Ion exhales with a whoosh, and I press down for all I’m worth, counter-shoving with my hands to free the boney plates.
    They make a horrific snapping noise, far louder than any pop my family members’ backs have ever made.
    “Oh, no, I’ve broken you!” I gasp, appalled.
    Ion laughs. “No, but you fixed it.” He turns his head and looks up at me with just his left eye. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to, but you did. Ahh,” he makes a groaning, contented sigh. “I can almost breathe freely. Can you get the other side?”
    Like Dorothy realizing how much the oil can helped the tin man, I hurry around the table and waste no time getting my hands in place. “Ready? Deep breath. Let it out on three.” I pause a moment, focusing. I’ve got to put just as much effort into this second one. I can’t get lazy just because the first one worked.
    And I didn’t break him, which is a huge relief. I’m pretty sure one of the cardinal rules of seduction is don’t break the guy you’re trying to woo.
    “One, two, three,” I count, and shove heartily.
    The hideous snapping sound still startles me, and I can’t imagine how his shoulder blades haven’t broken