That she let him—that she simply put her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder—meant the afternoon had taken more than she was showing.
He laid her on the bed and sat beside her.
"I'm going to look at your wrists," he said. "And your throat. Tell me if anything hurts."
"I'm fine—"
He gave her a look.
She closed her mouth.
He examined her wrists carefully, pressing gently at the bruising, watching her face for reactions. The left one was worse—the grip had been harder there. Nothing broken. He'd had Armaan confirm with a doctor before they'd left the bookstore.
Her throat made him still for a moment. The bruise was the precise shape of a forearm. Someone had pressed their weight against her airway.
He looked at it for long enough that she reached up and covered his hand with hers.
"I can breathe," she said quietly.
"I know." He turned his hand and held hers. "I know you can."
Bruno appeared in the doorway—had followed them upstairs in the elevator, still with rust-brown marks on his fur that Nimisha hadn't been able to look at directly.
"Come here," Samarth said.
The dog approached and sat.
Samarth looked at him—really looked at him. At the marks on his coat that were evidence of what he'd done for the woman sitting beside Samarth on this bed.
"You protected her," he said.
Bruno's dark eyes met his with the steadiness of an animal who understood duty in a way that required no translation.
Of course. She's ours.
"Thank you." The words felt inadequate. He said them anyway.
Bruno's tail moved once—not the dismissive huff he usually offered in response to sentiment, but something more deliberate. Accepted.
Samarth stood. "I'm going to clean him up. Stay here."
"I want to help."
"Nimisha—"
"Please." She stood, and he saw the effort it took. "I need to do something. I can't just sit here."
He understood that. He'd felt it himself—the desperate need to act after helplessness.
"Alright," he said. "Come."
They took Bruno to the large bathroom off the master bedroom. It was, objectively, a ridiculous situation—a Cane Corso in a luxury bathroom with Nimisha kneeling on the marble to reach his fur and Samarth working from the other side with a handheld showerhead set to warm.
Bruno bore the entire process with immense dignity.
"You scared me," Nimisha told him quietly, working her fingers through his coat. "When I heard you—I didn't know what it was at first. And then you were just there."
Bruno turned his head and looked at her steadily.
