“I couldn’t sleep alone,” she admits. Her words hang in the air, as if she wants me to extend an invitation to her. One I can’t give her.
“Yesterday was stressful. You’ll sleep better tonight,” I say instead.
I turn away from her before I betray how badly I want her to lay down beside me, to have her in my bed with me, even if all we do is sleep without even touching. The stitches tug with every step away from her, but I welcome the pain. It reminds me nothing worth holding comes without spilling blood. And before I hold Alina, Archer has to be dealt with.
When the door opens and shuts with her departure, I force my feet to not chase after her.
Because if I catch her, I won’t be able to let her go.
And Yelena would pour salt in my wound before stitching me up again.
My slow, lonely afternoon turns into a night that stretches long, every hour dragging across my nerves. I can’t find rest and Alina doesn’t return to keep me company or shove more pills in my mouth. The bandage pulls tight when I breathe too deep and I’m fucking freezing. I grit my teeth and force myself upright in bed. The room tilts and I curse.
The sound of light footsteps makes me glance at the door. Alina stands in the open doorway, framed by the low light, dark hair loose around her shoulders, wearing an oversized shirt. It hangs off her frame, swallowing her, and for one dangerous second, I wonder if it’s my shirt, then picture what she’d look like wearing nothing at all.
She opens her mouth, but the pleading words don’t make any sense. “I need you, Dom. I need you to make the ache stop. I can’t wait a week.” Her hand reaches underneath the hem of her tee, heading between her legs, making me groan.
“Dom? Are you in pain?”
I blink my eyes open that I don’t even remember closing to find Alina’s face furrowed in concern. Her hand is nowhere near her pussy, but still on the doorknob.
Shit. I guess I can add hallucinations to my list of symptoms.
“Dominik?”
When I don’t answer her, Alina comes over to the side of the bed and places her palm on my cheek. “You’re burning up.”
“That explains the teeth chattering…and hallucinations,” I reply. Even fever-drunk, my mind goes to her first.
“I’ll be right back,” she says before disappearing.
Five minutes or five hours later, I wake sweaty but sitting up, pills pressed to my lips, followed by a glass of water. Alina sits on the side of the bed, her eyes even heavier than before with exhaustion.
“You should be asleep,” I say, sharper than I mean to.
Her chin tips up, stubborn. “So should you once I change your bandage.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “You think I can rest with half the city smelling weakness on me?”
“You’re not weak.” Her eyes soften, and that infuriates me more than pity ever could. She crosses the room anyway, a small box in her hands. “I brought the supplies from the cabinet. Lift your shirt.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Yes,” she counters, quiet but firm. “You’re already fighting an infection, don’t fight me too.”
When she climbs up and kneels beside me on the mattress, setting the box down, I feel the last of my resolve snapping. I let her unfasten the old bandage. Her fingers tremble once, brushing the edge of the wound, and I hiss as pain shoots through me. She looks up fast, eyes wide. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” My voice comes out low, rough. “You didn’t put the bullet in me.”
Her lashes lower. “But if I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t insisted on coming...”
Her words hurt me more than the wound. I catch her wrist, holding her still. “You still think this is your fault? Your brother’s betrayal caused all of this. You can’t carry the burden of his bad decisions, hellcat.”
Her breath catches at the term of endearment, and her pulse beats against my fingers. For a second I don’t let go. I don’t want to. I want to kiss her again, but I know where that would lead. Finally, I release her, and she goes back to her work, silent except for the soft rustle of the gauze wrapper.
She leans close. The faint scent of her lavender shampoo wraps around me, too sweet for my world. I feel her breath on my skin as she works. Too close. Too tempting after that kiss earlier. Unless…did I dream that too? The sounds she made when I kissed her, then offering to lay down and let her do all the work?
“Did we…did I kiss you earlier?” I ask, needing to know for sure, that it wasn’t just in my fevered mind.
