Page 44 of Bound to the Dreadlord

She should be looking anywhere but at me.

But she isn’t.

She is only looking at me.

And I cannot stop looking at her.

The silence stretches.

Her gaze drops.

Not in submission but something else.

She exhales, sharp, like she hates what she is about to say.

"Sit down," she mutters, turning away from me, moving toward the small table near the corner of the chamber.

I arch a brow.

She doesn’t look back.

Instead, she grabs a cloth, a basin of water, a small vial of ointment.

She is tending to me.

As if I am the one who needs saving.

Amusing.

I sit.

I let her approach.

Let her kneel in front of me, her fingers hovering just above the wound in my side, her brows furrowing as she hesitates.

I smirk.

"You think I will strike you for touching me?"

Her lips press into a thin line.

Her hands do not lower.

I exhale, voice dropping lower.

"Or do you think touching me will feel like something worse?"

A sharp inhale.

She glares at me.

Without a word, she presses the cloth against my wound.

I feel it.

I feel her.

Her fingers brushing against my skin.

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