A low groan escapes her, her first sound a question mark of pain.
In a blur, I’m by her side, returning from the kitchen with an ice pack in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
Beautiful amethyst eyes meet mine, and my chest squeezes, hard, my non-existent heart thudding once, twice, faster.
It’s uncomfortable, yet… I can’t get enough.
“Where am I?” Her voice is raspy, raw, and it sends a coil of heat straight through me.
Except now is really not the time.
“Back in the city, safe. In Stark’s condo.”
She looks around, blinking rapidly and taking in her new surroundings, until her eyes widen, the pupils swallowing the amethyst as her whole body goes rigid with a single, sharp realization.
“Wait…Casey!” She jumps out of bed, a frantic movement that sends her toward the living room before I can react.
My thoughts stall. She’s wearing absolutely nothing.
Stark stripped her.
The sight of her—dark skin, curves, the flower birthmark over her heart—hits me with the force of a physical blow.
A part of me I thought long dead stirs as her scent, unbound by fabric, floods the air.
I inhale once. Then inhale again.
And force my fangs to stay hidden. Now is the worst possible time to remind her of the creature I am.
I cannot make her feel more vulnerable than she already is.
Except… she doesn’t seem to notice or care that she isn’t wearing anything. Not while she checks on Casey, wiping the sweat off his face and whispering comforting words.
I should feel the sting of jealousy, but there is no room for it. Not when I am the only one in the universe who gets to witness this.
How lucky I am to see her like this, with her love and empathy on full display, and the rest of her… unintentionally so.
As she kneels beside the couch, the lamplight catches something on her thigh—a mark that wasn’t there before. Purple, shimmery with magic that doesn’t belong to any mere human.
What is my little violet doing with a Guild mark? It could explain why she smells faintly of their magic.
“Alek? How long will he be like this? He looks so much worse!”
Her voice shatters the trance. I’m still on the bed, a fool holding a forgotten ice pack and a glass of water, a useless statue.
“Where are his glasses?”
I clear my throat, shaking off the thoughts invading my being, and speed to her side, offering the glass as water sloshes over the rim.
Stupid clumsy idiot.
She stares at it for a half a beat then chugs it down, grabbing the ice pack to press to her temple. A large bruise is already darkening there, and the guilt sits heavy in my chest when I see it. She hit her head in the Jeep when I was trying to evade the feral goons.
I should have been more careful.
As for the glasses… they were left behind, probably melted in the inferno after I crashed the Jeep to mask our scent.
Not that he’s going to need them anymore.
