“Artemis,” he said softly.
I froze.
He lifted my hand as if it were something fragile, pressing his lips to my knuckles. It was a simple gesture, and everything inside me went very quiet.
“Thank you,” he said.
I swallowed and pulled my hand back gently, because if I did not reestablish momentum, I might sit down on the floor and forget how to speak.
“You’re healing,” I said, a little too quickly. “The salves are helping. You really should get some rest. No more heroics tonight.”
He shifted, sitting up a little straighter, and I realized with some alarm that he looked better already. His color was returning.
“I do feel better,” he said. “Thanks to you.”
I shook my head and shrugged. “It’s your shifter biology, and Caliban’s salves. I just assisted.”
“That’s not how it felt,” he said.
I opened my mouth to deflect, but he leaned in before I could. The movement was slow, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
The kiss was gentle at first, questioning, like he was asking permission with his whole body. When I didn’t retreat, he deepened it just enough to make my knees weaken, his hand coming to rest at my waist.
The world narrowed to that point of contact. I forgot about everything and only focused on the knowledge that this was real and happening and not something my brain had invented to cope with stress.
When we parted, I rested my forehead against his, grounding myself in the steadiness of him.
My hands came up automatically to brace against his chest, fingers splayed like I needed proof of where I ended and he began. I laughed, too sharp and a beat too loud.
“Well,” I said finally, because silence felt dangerous. “That was medically inappropriate.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Noted.”
I took a step back, then another, bumping lightly into the wall. I tucked my hands into my sleeves, rubbing my thumbs along the seams, eyes darting once around the room like I was suddenly unsure where to stand.
“I, uhm… I should take a shower,” I said, then escaped down the narrow hall before my brain could reboot and betray me again.
The bathroom was small, clean, and blessedly ordinary. I shut the door, stripped, and stepped under the water like I was surrendering to a necessary procedure.
I braced my hands on the tile and let the heat do its thing, but it didn’t calm my thoughts. They organized. Which was worse.
Arthur had kissed me. Intentionally. He’d kissed me like he had already decided something and was letting me catch up.
And yet.
I don't have time for romance.
The sentence replayed in my mind. It had been a statement of fact, delivered with a sincerity that made me believe he meant it.
My brainstarted sorting.
Option one: Arthur wanted something physical and nothing more. Attraction without intention. Heat without future. That happened. Normal people did it all the time and survived.
Option two: He wanted more but didn’t believe he could have because of his duty to his people. Also common. Also messy.
Option three: I was misreading everything because my brain sometimes took things literally when they weren’t meant that way, and then it looped back until the pattern collapsed.
