Reva’s chin lifts. “I am holding still.”
She’s lying. Her whole body is shaking under the stillness and adrenaline coursing through her body.
Nash’s voice drops, aimed at Ever. “Talk.”
Ever’s eyes don’t leave the blood. “He grabbed her from behind. Knife came out fast, too fast. I got to her?—”
“And you let him cut her,” Nash repeats, flat.
Ever’s jaw tightens. “No.”
Nash steps closer. The air in the kitchen goes tight. “Then why is she bleeding through her shirt?”
Ever’s gaze flicks up, sharp and ugly. “As I said, I didn’t get there fast enough.”
Reva makes a small sound—half breath, half laugh. It doesn’t have humor in it. It’s pure disbelief. “No, Ever, you saved me.”
Ever’s head snaps toward her. “No,” he says, too rough. “I didn’t.”
Nash’s mouth turns hard. “And then?”
Ever’s shoulders go rigid. Reva’s eyes narrow. She looks between them, confused and—Christ—still trying to put the room in order somehow.
I press another towel against the area, doubling up. “Ever.”
He doesn’t move.
“Ever,” I say again, firmer.
His gaze flicks to me. I jerk my chin at the cabinets. “Antiseptic. Medical kit. Upstairs hallway closet. Go.”
For half a second he looks like he’s going toargue. Then he moves—fast, clipped steps, barefoot on hardwood, disappearing down the hall.
The moment he’s gone, Nash pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales, his signature method for leashing his temper and reining in his patience.
Reva’s breath is shallow. She keeps her shirt lifted with shaking fingers, watching me work and struggling not to pass out.
“Am I gonna need stitches?” she asks, voice thin.
“I think maybe a few, yes.” She’s absolutely going to need stitches, but I don’t want to stress her out any more than she already is.
She huffs out a faint laugh. “As many shots as I’ve given…I don’t much like needles.”
Nash’s gaze is on her throat now. On the bruising that’s already blooming where fingers held her. On her mouth. On her wrists.
He looks like he’s memorizing every mark.
Reva catches him looking and stiffens. “Stop.”
Nash’s eyes lift to hers. “Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that…” She swallows. “Like you care.”
Something in Nash’s expression tightens. Not softness, exactly. But close.
“No one’s going to lay a finger on you without my permission, little wolf.”
Reva’s eyes flash and she bares her teeth in a growl. Nash laughs and slides a hand over the back of her head in unwilling humor.
