Page 37 of Ruthless Alpha Beast
Despite the stinging, it feels, well, sort of comforting.
She continues dabbing, and in the silence, all the tension I was holding releases through my body. I open my eyes.
Her face is frowning, staring at my cheek as though she’s performing surgery.
It’s strangely cute.
“You said you wouldn’t open your eyes,” her voice is buttery and smooth like silk.
“It feels nice,” I tell her.
She pauses, gazing at me, and for a second, the world slows. There’s a strange, fuzzy current that passes through my body, and I almost reach out for her, but I don’t.
The light is making her look like a Goddess.
She looks away, reaching over to the table and squeezing white cream onto her two fingers.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be talking either,” she says, looking at the cream and not at me.
Her voice is soft as she says this, though. I haven’t heard her be this soft since… well, a long time ago.
“You’re right,” I nod, closing my eyes and leaning my head back onto the pillow behind me. “Silence from now on.”
Chapter 9 - Tara
Tending to Jasper’s wounds takes longer than I thought it would. This man takes up a lot of space, and a lot of his body has been injured.
But it doesn’t bother me. Before he left, I couldn’t think of anything worse than being this close.
Then he was gone, and I was left in this cabin all alone for two days, unsure when he would return or if he was even alive.
I hate his guts, but that doesn’t mean he shoulddie.
When I saw him stumbling in, looking so weak for someone who I thought could never be wounded, I panicked.
It just seemed wrong.
I had to do something, I don’t know. Again, I had no idea if he was even going to be coming back!
That sort of anxiety does something to a person. At least a human one.
“You should go to bed,” I tell him, putting the cloth and supplies back on the table. I don’t think I did much, but I did something.
“Yeah,” he responds. “By morning time, when you come down to see me, you’ll be shocked by how most of my wounds will have cleared up. Partly thanks to your help, of course.”
I can never tell what’s a joke when it comes to him. He always has that teasing, snarky tone in his voice. Especially when he’s talking to me.
“No,” I shake my head. “You need to go upstairs. To the bed, you’re injured.”
“I’ll be fine.”
There’s such a thing as being too brave, I think? I know his body works very differently from mine, clearly, but there’s no way in good conscience I’d let him sleep on the couch.
No way at all.
“You won’t be fine,” I say. “I’ll help you get upstairs.”
I gaze at his bare chest, his arms, and then my gaze flickers back to his face. I’m not sure how exactly I’ll help him upstairs; his body looks (and feels) as hard as granite. But I’m determined to help.
