“Don’t!” I shoved at him, but my strength was doing weird things, weak one second and then surging the next. I nearly sent him flying backward. “I can do it myself.”
“You can barely stand,” he said quietly, steadying himself with that inhuman grace I now recognized for what it was.
“I’ve been standing just fine for twenty-eight years without your help.”
“Your body’s adjusting to the bond. The strength fluctuations are normal.”
“Nothing about this is normal!” I snapped.
“Let me help-”
“I saidno.” I took a determined step toward what I assumed was the bathroom, only to stumble again. And again, he was there, not touching but ready to catch me. “Fuck off, Knox. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You need help. There’s a difference,” he said with infuriating calm. “I’m not leaving you to crack your skull on the bathroom floor.”
“From you? I’d rather crawl.”
“Then crawl,” he said, calling my bluff. “But I’m still following to make sure you don’t pass out.”
The worst part was that I actually considered it, just to spite him. But the twins were watching with worried faces, and I refused to let my anger at their father traumatize them more than this situation already had.
So I walked to the bathroom with as much dignity as I could muster, cursing him with every creative insult I could think of. “Arrogant wolfy bastard. Thinks he can just bite people and play hero. Probably gets off on the savior complex.”
“I can hear you,” he said mildly.
“Good. Maybe you’ll take the hint and fuck off to whatever cave you crawled out of.”
“It’s actually a very nice house,” he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice. The audacity.
“I hope you get fleas.”
“Wolves don’t get fleas.”
“Well, you should. It would match your personality. Irritating and hard to get rid of.”
When I reached the bathroom, I slammed the door in his face with perhaps more force than necessary. The wood cracked. Fantastic. Now I was breaking doors.
“I’ll be right here if you fall,” he said through the door, and I could picture him leaning against the frame with that stupidly handsome concerned face.
“I hope you get splinters,” I muttered, turning on the shower.
I stripped with shaking hands, noting how my body looked the same but felt entirely different. Every sensation was heightened, from the temperature of the air to the texture of my clothes. The bathroom mirror showed the same face I’d always had, but something in my expression had changed. More aware. More alert.
Under the hot water, I could hear him breathing on the other side of the door. Not creepy heavy breathing, just the normal inhale-exhale of someone standing guard. I could hear Noah moving around in another room, the twins chattering to him about breakfast. I could smell coffee brewing, eggs cooking.
Worse, I could somehow sense that Knox was facing away from the door, giving me privacy even though we both knew he could probably hear everything. Perfect gentleman. I hated him.
So why did my traitorous body ache for his touch? Why did every cell scream that he was right there, just a door away, and all I had to do was call him? Whatever he’d done with that bite had tied us together in ways I didn’t understand and definitely didn’t want.
The water ran over the bite mark on my neck, and I shivered at the sensitivity. It didn’t hurt exactly, but touching it sent weird sparks through my system. Like my body recognized it as important. Special. Mine.
No. Not mine. His. His mark on my skin like I was property. Like he could just decide I belonged to him after years of nothing.
“Three days,” I whispered to myself under the spray, making it a promise, a mantra, a lifeline. “Just three days and we’re gone.”
22
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