Because she’s clearly not fucking well. Her previously vibrant hair hangs limply past her shoulders, her face bloodless as she looks up at me emotionlessly. “Logan.”
Fuck. What’s wrong with her?
Steering her into the room, I glance around for a spot for her to sit down, but the previously packed room is completely empty. When she stumbles, I look down with a frown, panic warring with protectiveness in my chest.
“Why are you limping?” I don’t mean to bark at her, but I can’t help it. She doesn’t flinch though.
She doesn’t do anything. Just stands there, her hands drooping at her sides.
“I hurt my leg,” she whispers. “It’s not a big deal.”
The fuck?
“I’m taking a look at it,” I tell her. “Come on.”
She stiffens when I go to lift her, so I nudge her out of the room and across the hall into her room. She feels so frail under my hands, the fire that was present just a few days ago snuffed out. She sits obediently on the bed, her head hanging down, shoulders slumped.
She finally looks up at me, her blue eyes almost gray. “You don’t need to do this.”
My heart clenches in my chest, and I grit my teeth. “Yes, I do. Stay here.”
I head to grab a first aid kit, slowing as I re-enter the bedroom and see what I missed the first time round. It’s so tidy in here.
She hasn’t settled in, hasn’t made any changes to the room. I know how important that is to an omega. That she hasn’t isn’t a good sign.
And whose fault is that, asshole?
I need to talk to the guys. Something needs to change.Now.
“Hey,” I murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s take a look at that leg.”
She leans forward, her movements jerky, and rolls up the soft material of her yoga pants. My breathing hitches as my hand lifts to the rag covering her leg. It looks like one of the rags I use to mop up bits of paint. I had hundreds of them stashed in that room.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I scold her gently, but she flinches anyway and I bite back the admonishment. But something is seriously wrong here. As I unwrap it, she tenses, a low whine shaking her throat.
“Shhh,” I soothe her, my hands shaking slightly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”
A growl rises up my throat as I get a good look at her leg. The jagged gash is deeper than I expected, right across the back of her calf, inflamed and red with the early signs of infection. My fingers tighten over her knee. “How did this happen?”
“Something was sticking out,” she murmurs. “I fell when I was carrying a box. Couldn’t see.”
And whatever it was, was probably rusty as fuck too.
“When?” I rasp. She shrugs a little. “A few days ago.”
She moves, and I press her back into the bed. “You’re not going anywhere until this cut is properly cleaned.”
Sienna just blinks at me, slowly. “Why do you care?”
Because you’re my Soul Bonded.
Because you’ve taken all the shit we’ve thrown at you and just carried on.
We’re fucking assholes. All of us. We don’t deserve her.
“I care,” I say hoarsely. “Now stay still.”
I’m no healer, but I clean out the cut as best I can. Sienna barely moves, her teeth chewing at already ragged lips until I pry them loose softly with my thumb.
