Page 63 of Bound in Ruin

The kiss is impossibly soft, sweet, and slow, tasting like relief, joy, and an unspoken surrender that settles deep into my chest.

When I touch her, the raw, frantic edge completely vanishes. Our movements are slow, filled with a quiet care that breathes steady life back into the room.

As my hands trace the soft curve of her waist, careful to avoid the tender bruising on her ribs, a deep realization hits me like a sudden wave crashing against a shore.

What I feel right now isn't just dark, possessive desire. It's deeper. It's protective, terrifying, and real.

I care for her. More than I realize.

We drift off to sleep wrapped in each other's warmth, her head resting against my chest, the rhythm of her breathing lulling me into the deepest sleep I've had in months.

I wake up first the next morning as the sunlight streams through the bedroom curtains. Rosalia is still fast asleep beside me. I slip out of bed without disturbing her and head downstairs to the kitchen.

I find Helena near the counter preparing tea, while Keane stuffs toast into his mouth.

“Hi, Dominic!” Keane calls. Helena simply smiles.

I step inside, resting my hands on the island. “Good morning.”

"I need a breakfast tray prepared for the master suite. Something light for Rosalia,” I tell Helena.

Before Helena can answer, I glance at Keane. "Can you get the doctor back up to the house? I want Rosalia's ribs examined again."

Helena pauses, turning around with a soft sigh. "Dominic, the doctor said it’s not that serious. And I’ve seen it for myself. The graze is clean and she's resting fine⁠—"

"I don't care!" I snap, my voice cutting through the kitchen like a whip, making her fall silent. "I want a doctor checking every inch of that wound to ensure there's zero infection. Call him. Now."

A tiny, familiar bark breaks the tension in the room. I glance down to see Yapper trotting over to me, his tail wagging like a motor. The sight instantly softens the edge in my chest. I crouch down on my haunches, ruffling the thick fur around his neck and letting him lick my knuckles while Helena quietly sets to work preparing the breakfast tray.

"Good boy," I murmur to the dog.

Ten minutes later, the breakfast tray is ready. I take it from Helena and carry it up the grand staircase.

When I push open the door to the master suite, expecting to find Rosalia still resting in bed, my jaw instantly locks. She's standing by the vanity, completely dressed in a soft, matching lounge set, her dark hair damp from a fresh shower.

I slam the door shut behind me, setting the tray down on the side table with a loud clack that vibrates the fine china.

"What the hell are you doing out of bed?!" I snap, crossing my arms over my chest as I glare at her. "Why didn't you wait for me to help you?! You’re injured," I add, my tone tight and rigid as I loom over her.

Rosalia simply rolls her eyes, completely unfazed by my dark glare, and walks right past me to the side table. "I have a tiny graze on my ribs, Dominic, not a broken spine. I'm not an invalid."

She sinks onto the edge of the bed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the hot spread. "Thank you for the tray, though. I was starving," she mutters softly, picking up a fork and immediately digging into the food.

Minutes later, a sharp knock sounds at the door, and Keane ushers the personal doctor into the suite.

Rosalia stops mid-chew, her fork hovering in the air as her jaw drops in sheer disbelief. "Are you serious? Dominic, I told you I am completely fine!"

"I insist," I say, stepping up to the foot of the bed with my arms folded firmly across my chest, leaving zero room for argument.

Helena steps into the doorway right behind the doctor, shaking her head with a weary sigh. "I told him you were fine too. He didn't listen to me either."

"The doctor is going to check the wound, clean it, and re-bandage it," I state plainly, ignoring both of them. "End of discussion."

I want to take care of her—I need to—but I have no idea how to offer soft comfort. I want to softly stroke her hair and ask how she feels; but I don’t know how.

Rosalia groans loudly, throwing her hands up in utter frustration as the doctor sets down his medical bag and makes her lie on the bed.

"You are infuriating," she mutters under her breath, glaring at me as the doctor gently begins examining her ribs.