“How long have you been bleeding?” he asks, hand still on my leg and eyes burning with a furious intensity.
“I’m fine, really.”
He glances up. “Why is there so much blood?”
“It’s not allmyblood. It’s mostly yours.” I point at the floor where the blood I couldn’t mop up still sits in the deep pockets of eroded stone. “You made a bit of a mess.”
He lets go of my knee with a frustrated grunt. “Zar’vok, Amara,” he growls. He looks mad. Honestly mad. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “Gauze and water,” he says, his voice calm but unwavering. I blink in confusion until he repeats himself. “I need gauze and water.”
I frown. “Are we really doing this again?”
“I amasking.”
“I get that youthinkyou’re ‘asking’, but you're really ‘demanding’.”
He drags a hand down his face, but I swear the corners of hiseyes crease with the hint of a smile. I almost smile too. “Can you please hand me some gauze and water so I do not have to stand?” he asks. “I would like to bandage your knee.”
I blink a few times.He’s joking, right?
In response to my shocked expression, he lowers his head so we’re eye-level, reminding me of our height difference. I’m standing, he’s sitting, and he still has to bow his head. “Please let me help. It is the least I can do,” he says gently.
A bit curious, I hand him the partial cup of water and a fresh roll of gauze.
“Your foot,” he says, spreading his thighs and patting the small triangle of mattress between them.
I hesitate, but he pats the bed again, and I relent.
He dips a piece of gauze into the water and slides his free hand under my calf. An almost imperceptible gasp sucks through my lips at the contact, and an absolute disaster of confused emotion floods me. I swallow.I’m just touch-starved, and he’s touching me. That’s it. That’s all this is. He has a life of his own, and I’m a dead girl. I’m totally fine with that.
His eyes flick up to mine, and for a moment I swear I could sink into their depths and live there forever…Or not. Probably not.
Fuck, what is wrong with me?
With gentle, almost affectionate touches, he clears away the mixture of our blood and rubs his thumb in a small circle on my calf. I press my eyes closed, willing myself to stay calm.
“How did this happen?” he asks, as he starts to wrap my knee.
“The floor is sharp.”
He smooths the last piece of gauze into place before lowering my foot to the ground and meeting my gaze.
The hair on the back of my neck lifts.
His eyes are black.Completelyblack, no color or whiteat all.
I step back, surprised by the sudden change. I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes do that.
“Amara?” he asks, brows drawn in confusion.
There’s a dangerous venom behind those eyes, but it’s not frightening. If anything, it feels like it’s drawing me in. Begging me to?—
Trust him,something whispers in the back of my mind.
“Why do you look like you want to murder someone?” I ask, noting the fact that I said “someone” and not “me”.
“The only thing I want to murder is this floor.” He lets out a huff of frustration before rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.
I cock my head. “You want to murder the floor?” Is this a mistranslation or something?
