Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 86
âWhere did he fight a monster like this?â
Michael had always handled monsters with precision. Even in dangerous intermediate-tier dungeons where others risked their lives, he would return looking cleaner than someone who had merely gone for a walk.
If Michael was soaked in blood and in such a wrecked state, it must have been from a high-tier dungeon, likely with a particularly dangerous monster.
âBut there havenât been any dungeons like that recently.â
Feeling puzzled, Irene examined his body further.
In the darkness, she noticed a patch of red blood still lingering on his upper abdomen.
The blood hadnât fully purified yet.
Irene reached out toward that spot, but Michael swiftly caught her hand, guiding it back to his body as if to say, Donât let go.
âBut I canât just leave it like this.â
Worried that he might still have a wound there, Irene carefully began to move her hand, still holding onto him, sliding it slowly along his body.
Her fingers brushed over the firm muscles of his arm.
As long as she didnât let go, it seemed okay.
Unlike before, when he had grabbed her roughly, he now allowed her to continue touching him.
Gaining a bit more courage, Irene kept moving her hand without releasing her grip.
Wherever her hand touched, his muscles twitched, as if he were ticklish.
Finally, her hand reached his neck, where the miasma-tainted blood had turned into a sticky, viscous substance after partial purification.
Her hand accidentally slipped, causing her to brush his chest in a bold stroke.
âKghâŚ!â
Michaelâs body jolted, and a short groan escaped him.
Worried she had hurt him, Irene stopped immediately.
Her hand had come to rest over his heart, on his thick chest muscles, and she could feel the violent pounding of his heart beneath the sticky liquid.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart was racing, faster than seemed humanly possible.
As Irene glanced up in bewilderment, her gaze locked once again with Michaelâs.
His eyes, rather than clearing, appeared to have become even redder, scanning her with an intensity that made her swallow hard.
Her body had stiffened, and even swallowing her own saliva felt difficult.
From the moment she had touched him, the miasma flooding her body had left her trembling.
This indicated that she was indeed purifying him, but Michaelâs eyes hadnât changed at all.
It was as if he had been born this way.
âWhy isnât the miasma being fully purified?â
But it wasnât just the lingering miasma that troubled Irene.
She cautiously lowered her gaze again. Even in the darkness, the red stains on his white robes were clearly visible.
Although the rest of the monsterâs blood had been purified, this part remained stained.
Feeling that she needed to purify at least what was visible, Irene forced herself to lower her hand.
A faint glow flickered at her fingertipsâthe sign of purification at work.
Until now, her purification powers had been so weak that they were barely visible.
But now, even if only faintly, light gathered at her fingertips.
âPhewâŚâ
She focused, pushing through the mental fog that threatened to overtake her, pouring all her strength into the purification.
Yet the blood staining his abdomen showed no signs of changing.
âWhy… isnât it working?â
While Irene puzzled over this, Michael reached out, grabbed her hand, and pulled her closer.
â…!â
She fell into his chest, as if collapsing into his embrace.
One of his arms wrapped around her slender waist, while her sweat-dampened forehead rested against his neck, and her heaving chest pressed against his.
Suddenly, their bodies were completely entangled, and Irene panicked, trying to push herself away.
But the arm around her waist held her firmly in place, pulling her back into his embrace.
Just as she was about to tell him that he needed to let go so she could continue purifying him, he spoke.
âHere.â
Michael grabbed her wrist and slowly guided her hand.
Her palm pressed against his rock-hard abs, each defined muscle tensing under her touch.
He moved her hand slowly, as if savoring it, making her trace his abdomen.
With each twitch of her hand, his muscles rippled beneath her touch.
There was something almost obscene about the slow, deliberate way he moved her hand, and Irene, unsure of what to do, followed along with his movements.
âThis bloodâŚâ
He whispered in her ear, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down her spine,
â…isnât from a monster.â
