“Ithurtyou,” he says, the darkness in his eyes slowly contracting as his gaze runs back up my body, “right after I promised I would not let anything harm you.”
Ignoring the implications of that, I ask, “Why did they go black?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your eyes. Why did they go … black?” I can’t think of a better way to phrase it.
His lips part, but no sound comes out, and it occurs to me then that he doesn’t know it happened at all.
I frown. “How did you not notice? Does your vision not change?” It should, right?
He glances away with a strained expression and runs a hand over his chest again. “It has never happened before.”
“Well—” I stop, unsure of what to say. “Is it normal?” Because if it isn’t, we should probably figure that out.
With a concerned look, he asks, “Are you frightened of me?”
I consider his question and decide to answer honestly. “No. I probably should be, but I’m not.”
He hums. “That is good. And I apologize for my body’s earlier reaction. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine,” I say, brushing the hair back from my face. I swear, this has to be some sort of karmic punishment for past misdeeds. He’s unreasonably attractive, and now that I know him better, the attraction is only getting stronger. It’s distracting, and if I can’t find a way to shut it down, leaving this cell and walking to my death is going to be impossible. Right now, I don’t feel like a rage-filled killer; I feel like a yearning teenager, and that’s not the mindset I need.
He tilts his chin down and asks, “How is your knee? Does it hurt?”
“Uh, it’s fine. Thanks.” Clearing my throat, I ask, “Do you want a few minutes to compose yourself, or …?”
“I am afraid a few minutes will not make any difference.” He looks at me through long, dark lashes, and a pained smile crosses his face. His meaning is clear, and it sends a new rush of heat between my legs. His boner is 100% because of me.
Damnit.
I rock back on my heels. “So what do you want to do? I don’t want to make this weird, but I’m not done stitching you up, and I’d rather not leave you like this.”
“Are you able to ignore my body’s relentless pursuit of your attention?” he asks in an earnest tone that only increases my desire to jump on his lap and find out exactly what sort of monster he’s hiding in those pants.
No, no, no! Bad thoughts.
But I can’t stop thinking them. Every time he looks at me, I get this feeling that he wants to protect and ravage me at the same time. And Iwanthim to.
Nope. No. I am not going there. I should not go there.
But it’s more than just the way he’s looking at me. It’s that deep pull in my gut; the fluttering in my chest; the way I can’tstop myself from looking at him. It’s the way he takes all of my snarky comments and pointed jabs and seems to enjoy them. It’s the way he wrapped my knee. It’s how he’s curious and gentle when I know he’s strong enough to rip my limbs off. It’s his deep introspection on what he did in the arena, and his willingness to voice his regrets. It’s the way he listens and actuallyhearsme. It’s all of that, and somehow more.
Then again, I am about to die, and this could just be a natural reaction to that. People get horny and weird after any brush with death, right?
“I’ll be fine,” I answer, sounding anything but confident.
With a nod, he pulls a pillow from the bed and holds it out. “Please,” he says, “for your knees.” The gesture stirs up even more complicated emotions, and when I don’t take it, he lowers it to the ground, maintaining eye contact and barely hiding a grunt of pain.
The thrumming in my chest increases.
After another grunt, he’s lying back down and staring at me expectantly. “Is this position good for you?”
This is going to be harder than I thought.
The storm still rages outside,but it’s clear the sun is setting, and exhaustion has begun to take hold. My arms ache, and with the frequent breaks and ongoing conversation, a procedure I thought would take an hour has stretched into nearly three. Turns out, giant aliens with 20-inch-long jagged wounds take a lot longer to stitch than I thought, and now I have to wonder if the guards are going to come for me tonight or if they’re just gonna leave me in here.
“When do they normally bring you dinner?” I ask, standing to take a quick drink and grab another suture packet.
