“Oh shit. Sorry, sorry?—”
“It’s fine.”
But she was gentler after that, her touch light as she cleaned and bandaged. The last wound was low on his back. She had to kneel to reach it, her face level with his hip. This close, she could see the way his muscles tensed under his skin and the way his hands gripped his thighs, knuckles white.
“Almost done,” she whispered.
The blood had dried here, so she went slower as she cleaned it up. Her fingers brushed the waistband of his work pants and he made a sound, low in his throat.
“Sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I can’t help it. You got hurt because of me. Because I was stupid enough to?—”
“You weren’t stupid.” He turned in the chair, caught her wrist. Not hard, just enough to stop her. “You were trying to help. The krulaati shouldn’t have spooked like that.”
“But they did. And you?—”
The reality of it crashed over her all at once. The lead krulaati rearing up, hooves like dinner plates about to crush her skull. The sound they’d made hitting his back instead. How his body had curved over hers, taking every strike meant for her.
Her vision blurred and the cloth fell from her numb fingers.
“You… you could have died.” The words were a broken murmur. “You almost—because of me?—”
“Juni.”
Her name in that low rumble undid her. The tears came hard and sudden, shaking loose something she’d been holding since she’d stepped off that transport. Since before. Since the morning she’d been fired, since her mother’s funeral, since everything fell apart and she’d had to keep smiling, keep being cheerful, keep pretending she was fine.
She wasn’t fine. She was so far from fine it was unreal.
She felt herself breaking apart, ugly sobs tearing from her throat. Then his arms were around her, pulling her up and against his broad chest. She should have been careful of his injuries but she couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the sounds coming out of her.
His hand cupped the back of her head like before, but this time his hand stroked gently through her hair instead of gripping tight. This time he was comforting, not claiming.
He held her through it. He was so warm. Solid. Real. An anchor while she shattered.
He murmured softly, words her translation matrix didn’t quite pick up but understand anyway. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.
His fingers stroked through her hair, found a rhythm that matched her breathing. Her sobs eased to hiccups, then to nothing. She stayed pressed against him, her face hidden in the curve of his throat. He smelled like antiseptic and blood and that warm scent that was just him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his skin.
“What did I say about apologizing?”
A small laugh escaped her. “Can’t help it. It’s a character flaw.”
His chest rumbled. Not quite a laugh, but close.
They stayed like that for long moments. Her pressed against his bare chest. His arms around her like he’d forgotten he was supposed to keep his distance.
Finally, she eased back. His arms loosened but didn’t fully let go.
“Thank you.” She met his eyes. “For saving me. For... this.”
Something shifted in his expression. He searched her face like he was memorizing it.
“You should rest.” His voice was gruff again, but his hand swept gently over her back before he let her go. “You’ve had a shock.”
