Page 8 of Charged By the Razorbacks

His jaw tightened. “You’re injured.”

She didn’t even look at him.

“Observant,” she muttered.

It was one part sarcasm, one part defense. He ignored both.

Aleksy turned, already moving, scanning the room with a different focus now—not for threats, but for utility.

“Stay still,” he said.

That got a reaction.

Her head snapped toward him, eyes sharp despite the strain under them. “Not a chance.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t argue.

Just found what he needed—a compact medical kit mounted along the wall—and pulled it free with more force than necessary.

Because irritation sat under his skin now. Sharp. Unwelcome. Persistent.

Not at her, but at the fact that she was hurt at all.

He crossed back to her, closing the distance without hesitation. “Sit.”

“Hard no.”

Aleksy didn’t slow. Didn’t soften.

He stepped into her space, one hand bracing lightly—firmly—at her uninjured shoulder and guided her down onto the edge of the table behind her.

Not rough. Not gentle. Just—decisive.

Her eyes flashed. “Bossy.”

“You’re bleeding,” he returned. “I am allowed to be bossy when you are bleeding.”

That shut her up.

He opened the kit, movements precise but tighter than usual as he pulled out gauze, antiseptic, tools—everything he needed.

His control sat just under the surface, barely intact.

“Hold still,” he said again, and after a pause, added. “Please.”

This time—she didn’t argue. Just sat quietly and watched him.

Her gaze sharp and assessing. Like she was trying to figure out what he was doing beneath the surface, not just what he was doing with his hands.

He ignored it and focused on the wound.

The moment he touched her—she flinched. Small. Almost imperceptible. But he felt it.

His jaw tightened harder. “You should have let us track you properly.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Oh, we’re doing this now?”

“Yes.”