And I burned for it.
The sight of her bleeding shattered something in me.
Not just rage.
Not just protectiveness.
Something primal. Unforgivable.
“Who did this?” I demanded, my voice already rough from holding back the scream I didn’t know I’d swallowed.
She flinched.
Didn’t look at me.
Didn’t answer.
Just pressed that cloth harder against her skin like she could erase the wound herself.
“Don’t you dare act like you care now,” she muttered.
The words sliced deeper than her split lip.
But I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t. Not when the air was thick with her pain and my fury and the truth neither of us wanted to say out loud.
“Care?” I echoed, the word tasting wrong in my mouth. Too soft. Too human. “You think I’m here because I want to see you bleed?”
She finally looked at me.
And her eyes?—
Fuck.
A storm. Fury and fear and the sharp sting of betrayal all crashing behind her irises like waves against stone.
“You’re not exactly a knight in shining armor,” she hissed.
I stepped closer, slow and deliberate.
“I’m not a knight,” I said. “I’m the monster that comes for anyone who touches what’s mine.”
She pressed her lips together—tight. Like the pain was nothing. Like I was nothing.
But I saw through it.
I always did.
“Let me see,” I said, softer now.
“No.”
She took a step back like I was fire she refused to burn for.
But I followed.
Of course I did.
I didn’t stop until there were barely inches between us. The space between our bodies vibrated with tension—her defiance crashing into the force of my restraint.
