“I need you here,” I whispered.
“Please…”
I looked into her eyes, silently willing her to see me, a man begging to hold the pieces of her shattered world just long enough for her to catch her breath.
She nodded, slowly, then looked away from me, retreating into her shell.
I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. If I had been a second too late… if I hadn’t doubled back for something as stupid as sneaking a picture of her… she would’ve been gone. Just like that.
And I’d only just begun getting used to her presence. I ran a trembling hand through my hair.
“… Let me help you clean your hand,” I offered gently, noting the dark smear of blood still trickling from where the IV had been ripped out.
She looked down at it like she was just realizing it now. The crimson had spread across her palm, staining her wrist and fingertips.
I stood and headed for the bathroom, where I’d stored a small first aid kit for her, just in case. I pulled it out from the drawer and returned to the room, where she now sat on the bed, silent and still.
I lowered myself beside her feet.
“May I?” I asked, waiting for her permission.
She gave me a long, unreadable look, searching my face as though trying to decide whether or not she should allow me.
Then she nodded in approval.
I moved slowly, scooting closer inch by inch, not wanting to spook her, giving her time to adjust to the proximity. I stopped at her waist, close enough to help, and far enough to let her retreat if she changed her mind.
I held out my hands for hers. And then, gently, she raised her hand and placed it in mine.
The moment her skin touched mine, a jolt ran through me.
Her hand was so small and delicate in mine. I fought the urge to kiss her fingers, to press my lips against her wrist and whisper a thousand apologies, but I didn’t. She wasn’t ready for that. I carefully removed the bloodied IV tape. She winced slightly but didn’t pull away. I dabbed the area with cotton wool soaked in spirit.
NARINE’S POV
I watched as he wiped the blood from my hand with such care. His touch was warm, unlike the countless hands that had dragged, struck, restrained, or defiled me in the past. His were different. Not just in size, but in intention. They didn’t want to take. And that… unsettled me more than I could explain.
My fingers trembled slightly in his hold, but I didn’t pull away.
A shaky breath escaped me as I thought back to those awful few seconds suspended in the air. I had thought I wanted death. Believed it was the only mercy the universe might ever offer me. But the moment I lost my footing… the instant my body tipped over that ledge… I panicked.
I feared it.
Every inch of me screamed to live.
And when he caught me when those strong arms pulled me from the jaws of what could have been my final, pathetic end, I felt something I hadn’t felt in so long I barely recognized it.
Relief.
Pure, desperate, gut-wrenching relief.
I remembered how he’d yelled.
His voice had struck through me like a thunderclap. For a moment, my body reacted the only way it knew how, flinching, recoiling, and preparing for pain. But none came.
It was the first time I’d ever been yelled at because someone wanted me to live. It wasn’t scolding. It was fear. For me.
And when he scooped me into his arms… He cradled me as though I were a fragile treasure, cherished and valuable, rather than the broken and tarnished person I believed I was… I didn’t want to leave the warmth of his chest. I hated that I didn’t. I hated that it felt safe.
What truly caught me off guard, though, was the moment he knelt beside me. His voice thick with raw emotion as he poured out an apology that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. But more than that, it was his fervent plea for me to choose life that struck a chord within me, unraveling the walls I had built around my heart.
“I swear, I would burn the world to the ground for you… I would do anything you want without a second thought… You have no idea how much power you wield over me, Im Sireli.”
Those words hadn’t stopped echoing in my head since he spoke them.
I didn’t even know what “Im Sireli” meant. But the way he said it stirred something in me.
I let my gaze drop to the band-aid he was carefully applying to my hand, watching as he smoothed it down with deliberate precision. Each stroke of his fingers was gentle yet filled with a kind of tenderness that stirred something deep within me, making an unfamiliar tightness constrict my throat.
How much power do I actually hold over him? To what lengths would he go for me, really? A part of me desperately wanted to believe him and longed to embrace the possibility that someone could genuinely care enough to fight for me, to stand by my side like he had proclaimed, and that, truly, like he had said, I was his mate.
But that part of me was buried beneath layers of disbelief. I didn’t know how to trust anymore. I didn’t think I could. Because what happens if I reach out and the ground crumbles beneath me again?
I looked up at him then, watching how he was focused and how his brows furrowed in concentration.
And I felt it again.
That unwanted, terrifying flicker of warmth in my chest.
“All done,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. He leaned back slightly, gathering the blood-soaked cotton. He stood. Then his gaze shifted down to meet mine.
“You’re not going to do anything… you’re not supposed to, are you?” he asked, his tone was serious.
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth before I quickly schooled my expression, looking away.
I shook my head wordlessly.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and somehow that simple gesture made something flutter inside me. God, he looked… cute, with his jaw slightly clenched and his eyes narrowing into slits like he was trying to read my soul.
“All right,” he said after a pause. “I’ll trust you.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.
I blinked in disbelief, a sudden realization washed over me. Did I really just think he was cute? The idea felt absurd, as if it had been pulled from some romantic comedy rather than my actual life.
No. Absolutely not. I quickly shook my head, dismissing the thought with a surge of defiance. I refused to entertain that notion for even a second.
This had to be a side effect of the near-death experience I had just endured, my mind was clearly playing tricks on me. Yes, that was it, surely I was just delusional from adrenaline and impending danger. There was no other explanation for this bizarre line of thinking.
He reappeared moments later, and I tensed when I saw something monstrous in his hand. The look on my face must’ve given me away, because he chuckled.
“It’s a steam mop,” he gestured, twitching his lips in amusement as he held it up like a peace offering.
I watched in stunned silence as he began mopping up the blood splatters around the room. He paused, then he rolled up his sleeves.
Dear god. I didn’t mean to stare, but the way his forearms flexed as he moved, and the muscles shifted under skin, and the veins ran down like intricate patterns.
He looked… hot.
I tore my gaze away from him, and a blush crept across my cheeks, mortified by my own reaction. What the hell is wrong with you? I scolded myself inwardly, the voice of my conscience echoing in my mind. The man had just saved your life, and yet here I was, practically swooning over him, ogling his damn arms like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Yet, despite the gravity of the situation, I found myself unable to shake the image of those powerful arms, muscles rippling under his shirt as he cleaned the mess I had created. It was a reaction I couldn’t quite rationalize, my heart raced as I thought of him, a king of the Lycans, typically a figure of ferocity, now doing something so mundane as cleaning up after my mess, completely without the dramatic flair I would’ve expected. It was bewildering. Who would have thought that a ruler of such enigmatic strength would stoop so low, attending to the mess of my life personally?
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