Odd.
“Barely.” My voice scrapes, rough from sleep, and I cough.
“How do you feel?”
“Alive.”Thirsty.
Her eyes flick down to where her hand’s resting on mine, and she jerks back, light pink spotting her cheeks. “Sorry. You were twitching a lot, and touch seemed to help.”
It shouldn’t have. How does a person’s touch haveanysoothing capabilities? Medicine is all that can heal, not comfort. Science, straight and forward; nothing more, nothing less.
Still, when she should be scolded for comforting a stranger, I reassure her with, “It’s okay.”
And that might be the truth.
“It’s late. What are you doing in here?”Why are you in my room?
“Waiting for you to wake up. Do you need anything? Water?”
Despite being thirsty, I shake my head, because retrieving water means leaving, and when she goes, I won’t be able to further dissect why her presence is calming.
“Okay, um…” Strands of hair coast over her face as she quickly stands, inching the chair backwards. “I’ll leave now that you’re awake. I stayed to thank you for saving my life.” Intriguing blue eyes flick to the bandage on my shoulder, reminding me I’m shirtless in front of a woman nearly ten yearsyounger than me and the half-sister to my Pakhan. “You don’t know me, and you took the bullet, so…thanks.”
She’s thanking me.
Why the hell is shethankingme?
I don’t get thanked. That’s not who I am. I’m a weapon for the Bratva. A solider trained by my father. The network administrator, as deemed by Ursin. Even though Vanessa isn’t anything like her papa, my role’s long been determined—one I’ve come to enjoy and appreciate.
But never thanked. Not like this, anyway. It’s usually a passing thanks from my sister or Vanessa or Dimitri,maybeone of the soldiers. More like a fleeting moment of politeness. Never with such sincerity, on an angel’s face who’s saying and doing all the wrong things. Wrong—because I’m unused to them.
“Don’t worry about it.” It’s a weak response but all I got. “Are you okay?” I rub my brow, unused to truly wondering about someone who isn’t my sister. But since Serafina is Vanessa’s newly discovered relation, and Vanessa is one of my best friends, it’s polite to ask…right?
“Because of you,sì. You shouldn’t be the one asking that.”
I tick my head to the side, trying to decipher her meaning. “You don’t want me to ask about your well-being?”
“I’m not the one lying injured in bed.”
“Right.”
She glances towards the window and back, rocking on her heels. “I should let your sister know you’re up. Though, she’s probably asleep. This whole house is, I think, considering it’s the middle of the night.” She huffs a stilted laugh. “If you don’t need anything, I’ll go.”
Don’t.
A thought as abrupt as my next action. An action I won’t understand until my death.
The hand she once held darts for hers, latching on to her pinky finger. Her nail painted a bright pink is oddly agreeable. She freezes, both of us staring at where I’m touching her.
“Stay.”
Wait—why?
“Unless someone pointed out a spare room, it’s too late to go wandering around searching.”
Except, the chair isn’t a suitable place to rest, and her having slept in it for hours already couldn’t have been comfortable. Since she’s been here instead of the others, it’s my fault she’s getting a shit sleep.
“The bed is big enough for both of us.”
