He wore nothing but a pair of loose gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, his chest bare and still slightly damp. Water droplets clung to his pelt, tracing paths down the defined planes of his torso, catching the light. God, he was beautiful. All lean muscle and that otherworldly grace that made him move like something wild and untamed.
But then I saw the rest of it.
The ends of his mane were singed and uneven, the tips blackened and brittle. Angry red welts marked his arms and chest—burns that were already healing but still visible. A vivid reminder of what he'd done. What he'd risked.
He'd run into a burning building for our son.
"Ruby?" His voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I realized I was staring. Heat crept up my neck. "Your hair," I said quietly, setting down a handful of crackers. "And your arms."
He glanced down at himself, then back at me, something unreadable in those honey-brown eyes that seemed to glow in the fading light. "It's nothing. Already healing."
"It's not nothing." I moved closer without thinking, my fingers hovering near one of the welts on his forearm. "You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't." His voice was soft, steady, absolute. "And neither was Teddy."
My throat tightened. I looked at the damaged ends of his mane again, at the way the fire had stolen its usual luster. "Let me fix your hair," I said. "Please. I can at least do that much."
He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "You don't have to."
"I want to." The words came out forcefully, almost desperately. "Just... let me help. Okay?"
Something shifted in his expression, softening around the edges. "Okay."
I grabbed a chair from the dining table and positioned it in the middle of the kitchen, then retrieved the scissors from the desk drawer. My hands were steadier than I expected as I gestured for him to sit.
Cristox settled into the chair, his broad shoulders filling the space, and I moved behind him. Up close, the damage was worse than I'd thought. The fire had eaten away at least three inches in some places, leaving the ends ragged and brittle.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, running my fingers gently through the unburned sections. His mane was softer than it looked, silky despite the trauma, sliding through my fingers like warm water.
"For what?" His voice rumbled, low and calm, vibrating through his chest in a way that made me want to press my palm against his back just to feel it.
"That you got hurt. That you had to—" I swallowed hard, positioning the scissors. "You could have died in there, Cristox."
"I had to get to Teddy." Simple. Matter-of-fact. Like there had never been another option.
I made the first cut, watching the singed ends fall away. "I know. But still..."
"There is nothing—nothing—worth more than protecting you and Teddy." His voice carried absolute certainty. "My manewill grow back. Burns heal. But if something had happened to you or him..."
I had to blink back the sudden sting in my eyes. I kept cutting, trying to even out the damage, but I was taking off so much more than I wanted to. Inches of his beautiful mane falling to the floor.
"I'm sorry," I said again. "I have to cut so much."
"Ruby." He said my name like a benediction. "I don't care about my mane."
My fingers brushed against his neck as I worked, and I felt him go still beneath my touch, every muscle tensing. His tail twitched, curling slightly toward me. The silence stretched between us, heavy with something I didn't want to name.
"Your touch," he said quietly, his voice rougher now. "It feels good."
I froze, scissors hovering mid-cut. My heart hammered against my ribs. Heat pooled low in my belly. "Cristox..."
He turned in the chair, looking up at me, and the intensity in his eyes stole my breath. Heat and hunger and something softer. Something that terrified me. "Ruby."
I should have stepped back. Should have put distance between us. Instead, I found myself moving closer, my hand still tangled in his shortened mane, drawn by something I couldn't resist.
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "Tell me to stop."
