Ever since the kiss — that desperate, wall-slamming, world-ending kiss — he'd kept his distance. Professional when we crossed paths. Clinical when he had to check on Stone or the other ferals. Never alone with me.
I felt his want through the bond. Constant, denied, painful. He was punishing himself for losing control. Punishing both of us.
It made everything harder.
I needed him. Not just physically — though god, my body hadn't forgotten the way he'd felt against me — but practically. He was the doctor. He was supposed to be monitoring my health, making sure I didn't collapse.
Instead, he watched from a distance. Made notes on his tablet. Frowned at readings he didn't like but never confronted me about.
I was leaving Stone's room when Neal appeared in the corridor.
He looked worse than I'd ever seen him. The dark circles under his eyes matched mine. His coat was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, his jaw shadowed with stubble he hadn't bothered to shave.
"Lumi."
I stopped. My heart rate spiked, and I knew he could hear it. Could probably read it on whatever medical device he had tucked in his pocket.
"Neal." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Did you need something?"
"Yes." He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell him — antiseptic and coffee and something underneath that was justhim. "I need you to stop."
"Stop what?"
"All of it." His voice was harsh. Raw. "The skipped meals. The sleepless nights. The slow, systematic destruction of your own body."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not fine." He grabbed my arm, and the contact sent electricity shooting through both of us. I saw him feel it — the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath caught. But he didn't let go. "Your weight is down twelve pounds from when this started. Your blood pressure is erratic. Your cortisol levels are through the roof. You're showing early signs of malnutrition, Lumi.Malnutrition."
"I'll eat more—"
"You'll eat now." His grip tightened. "You'll sleep now. Tonight. A full eight hours in an actual bed, not that cot I put in the observation room." His voice dropped, dangerous. "Or I sedate you myself."
I stared at him.
The bond between us was screaming. His want, his fear, his desperate need to take care of me warring with his determination to keep his distance. He was breaking his own rules just by being here. Just by touching me.
"Neal," I whispered.
"Don't." His jaw clenched. "Don't look at me like that. I'm trying to—"
I collapsed.
Not on purpose. My legs just... stopped working. The exhaustion I'd been holding at bay for days crashed over me like a wave, and suddenly the floor was rushing up to meet me.
Neal caught me.
His arms wrapped around me, taking my weight, pulling me against his chest. I heard him curse — creative, explicit, very un-doctorly — and then I was being lifted. Cradled against him like I weighed nothing.
"I'm fine," I mumbled. "Just tired."
"You just passed out in a corridor."
"I didn't pass out. I... sat down quickly."
"You're impossible." But his arms tightened around me. "I'm taking you somewhere you can actually rest."
"The observation room—"
