Page 105 of Dark Rage


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No!

They aren’t mine. What nonsense was I thinking? Must be the lack of food.

“Hey.” A smile spreads across Max’s face.

It should be wrong for a man to look that stunning by simply smiling.

“Hey. I thought you might be ready for a snack. I brought you a cupcake.”

He glances down at it and grimaces. “I hate cupcakes.”

Really? Most men love sweets. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I can go grab you a cookie or a sandwich if you’d prefer.”

“No. No. It’s fine. I’m going to take Dash over to the park for some fresh air in a little while.”

That’s sweet. And something I’d totally expect from Max. “Thanks. I’m sure he’ll enjoy that.”

Max reaches up to brush back the lock that’s always falling in his face.

“What happened to your hand?” Most of his hand is wrapped up, and there’s blood starting to come through.

He glances down at it, chagrined. “I hurt them yesterday.”

“Both of them look like that?”

He nods.

“You need them re-bandaged.”

“They’re fine.”

Such a man thing to say. “Come with me.”

“Huh?”

“Come on, I’ll re-bandage them for you. You can leave your stuff here. No one will touch it.” I nod towards Jacko, sitting in the corner, starting on his meal.

“Really, it’s nothing.”

Whatever. I take a nod from Emilia again and get up and start walking.

As I step onto the street, he’s next to me. “They’re really fine. They look worse than they are.”

An eyebrow raise is all it takes for him to stop. “Give me Dash. Carrying him has got to hurt.”

He returns the eyebrow raise, but doesn’t hand over the baby.

Stubborn man.

We walk in silence to my apartment.

Daria’s writing with Knight today, so the apartment is thankfully empty. “You can put Dash on his blanket. I’ll go grab the medicine basket.”

If anyone knows how to fix bloody wounds without a medical degree, it’s me. I walk back in to find Max standing next to the wall of books, staring like he’s memorizing them.

“This is quite a collection.”

“It is. We’re starting to run out of room for Daria’s collection.” I set the basket on the coffee table. “Come on over. It won’t hurt…much.”