My resistance crumbles.
I lie there while he cleans each scratch with infinite patience. Despite the burning sting, I feel how his touch is gentle. Almost tender.
It makes my chest ache worse than the scratches on my face.
“Why do you let her speak to you like that?”
“Why are you so talkative all of a sudden?”
His expression shifts to one of mild amusement. “Where did you learn to fight?”
“None of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business.” The words sound fierce. Possessive.
“Why? Because you’re my brother?”
He flinches as if I’ve struck him. His hand stills on my face. When he speaks, his voice is dark. Venomous. “Just because our parents are mated, it doesn’t make us siblings.”
His tone startles me. There’s a rawness to it that sounds almost like pain.
I open my mouth to respond, but he’s already reaching for a bandage. His movements are quick now. He tears open thepackaging and carefully applies the dressing to my cheek, smoothing down the edges with gentle fingers.
His eyes flick to mine, and I see something in them I can’t quite figure out. Then, he sits back slightly, still straddling my hips, and studies my face.
“Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Liar.” His eyes narrow. “When was the last time you had a proper meal?”
I press my lips together.
“Breakfast? Lunch?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
“Come to the kitchen. I’ll make you dinner.” He shifts his weight forward, preparing to move off me.
But the movement brings him closer. His face hovers inches above mine, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. His scent overwhelms me, making my head spin.
His gaze drops to my mouth. Lingers there.
My body responds instantly. My nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of my robe. I know he can see it, know he notices the way my breath hitches, the flush spreading across my skin.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” I manage to whisper. “But you spent years making me think you were a good person. Only took one conversation for me to realize you’re no different from everybody else.”
Pain flashes in his eyes. Or maybe guilt.
“Get out.” This time he lets me push him away. “I don’t need you to save me from my mother. And I don’t need your help or—or whatever game this is.”
He moves off me slowly. Stands beside the bed.
“I know it’s all a lie.” My voice is steady now. “And I won’t be made a fool of.”
He stares at me for a long moment, those dark eyes searching my face like he’s trying to memorize every detail.
Then, he turns and walks to the door. It closes behind him with a quiet click.
