Page 83 of Fang Fatale

He pauses in the doorway.

His eyes find me almost immediately.

Something about that realization makes my stomach flutter.

“So,” I say, folding my arms over my ribs like a shield, “do I have you to thank for the rescue, or were you hoping to collect the reward?”

He steps into the sunlight.

“Depends who's paying.”

I should leave it there.

Instead...

“Come sit.”

I pat the sofa beside me.

“I can change your bandages.”

One eyebrow lifts.

“Do you have experience with traumatic wounds?”

“Nothing but.”

A small smile escapes before he can stop it.

He sits.

Closer than necessary.

Not close enough.

I peel away the ruined bandages.

Up close the injuries are worse than I'd realized—deep gouges, angry bruising, dried blood along the edges.

I wince.

He doesn't.

He simply watches me with an intensity that makes it difficult to remember how breathing works.

“Theo said...”

I smooth fresh gauze over his shoulder.

“...you carried me all the way down the mountain.”

He shrugs.

“You were tired.”

That's it.

That's his explanation.