Can't reach up to fix it.
Can't adjust the mask without disturbing her.
Panic flares hot.
Vision grays and narrows to pinpricks.
My free hand that isn't covering the scar on her shoulder hovers at her side where her body presses my arm against the backof the couch. I'm caught between the desperate need to cover myself and the fear of waking her. Of ruining this brief peace she's found in my arms.
Breath catches in my throat.
My jaw locks tight.
Every muscle in my body coils.
Ancient responses to danger.
Responses hardwired into my alpha DNA.
But there's nowhere to run or hide.
Not when the monster is your own face.
Stay still.
Don't wake her.
She needs rest.
The mantra repeats in my head, forcing my hand to lower. Forcing my breathing to steady. The mask isn't down much. Just enough to show part of the ruin of my right cheek.
Or what used to be my right cheek.
Maybe she won't notice.
Maybe she'll stay asleep.
Maybe—
Her eyelashes flutter.
No.
Fuck—
My heart slams against my ribs so hard it hurts.
Blood roars in my ears.
But I can't move.
Can't breathe.
Can't do anything but watch, frozen, as those ocean eyes slowly open. Her gaze is unfocused at first, clouded with sleep and medication. Then it sharpens as her eyes find my face.
As they flick down to where my mask has slipped.
As her pupils blow wide.
