What I didn’t expect?—
Was the smell.
Blood.
Sharp. Metallic. Hers.
My pulse snapped into overdrive, instincts overriding logic. My entire body shifted into high alert.
Fight.
Find.
Claim.
“Persephone!” I called, voice rough, barely restrained. It echoed through the house—sharp, demanding.
No answer.
I moved fast, heart slamming against my ribs, scanning every shadow like it might be hiding her from me. The scent grew stronger as I neared the kitchen.
And then?—
I saw her.
She was standing by the sink, skin pale beneath the harsh light, a thin line of blood between her lip.
Someone hit her.
Someone touched her.
The sight nearly brought me to my knees.
Not because she was weak.
Because she was wounded—and I hadn’t been here to stop it.
“What happened?” I demanded, already closing the distance between us.
She stiffened, not like prey, but like someone who refused to break. “It’s nothing.”
I stopped in front of her, jaw tight.
“Nothing?” I echoed, my voice a low growl. “You think this is nothing?”
Her gaze flicked to her mouth, then to the floor, where drops of crimson decorated the tile like some sick, abstract painting. It made me want to destroy the world.
“You’re bleeding,” I said through gritted teeth. Possessive. Uncompromising. Mine.
“I know what blood looks like,” she snapped, her chin lifted in defiance.
Fuck. She was hurt and still ready to go to war with me.
I took a step closer. Then another. Until her back hit the counter and there was nowhere left for her to go.
She didn’t flinch.
She met my gaze with fire in hers.
