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“Okay, it’s okay, baby,” he said, reaching for me as he moved into my apartment, and pulled me into his arms.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alaric
I hadn’t even heard any footsteps before the door was pulled open.
Then there she was.
The first thought, after a night like this, shouldn’t have been about how fucking pretty she was.
But, fuck, she was.
Up close like this, she was even smaller than she’d seemed at the hotel. I towered over her. She had to crane her head up to make eye contact.
Something about that smallness had an even bigger surge of protectiveness building inside me.
When I could finally force my gaze off that pretty face, finding her glasses missing this time, and I decided I missed them, though, I was reminded why I was there.
Because she looked like a fucking horror show. Her hands up to her wrists were covered in dried blood. More of it covered her legs from just above the knees down. Even her white tee had a big stain on it.
“Are you hit?” I asked, even though I could clearly tell she wasn’t. Some part of me just needed confirmation. “Hey,” I saidwhen she stood there, staring up at me with glistening eyes. “Hey, it’s alright,” I said, even though, to her, it clearly wasn’t.
Those words were what made the tears stop swimming and start pouring down her cheeks, her body immediately racked with sobs.
I’d never had such a strong urge to pull a woman into my arms before. So that was exactly what I did as I stepped forward into her apartment. “Okay, it’s okay, baby,” I murmured as I crushed her to my chest, one arm anchored around her hips, the other around her upper back, my hand holding the back of her neck.
I didn’t ask for anything right then.
It seemed like she just needed someone to be there, to hold onto her while she let herself fall apart.
The stream of tears seemed to be fed by an endless well, soaking through my shirt, and making her sniffle hard until, finally, the sobs eased, and her breathing started to level back out.
“Come here,” I said, turning her away from me, but keeping my arm around her waist as I led her toward the sink in the kitchen.
I turned on the tap, running the water warm, then moving behind her, so I could pull her hands under the running water.
We both stood there watching the red turn pink as it mixed with the water before sliding down the drain.
Siana stood there numbly as I poured soap, then sudsed up her hands, working my fingertips into her cuticles to try to get all the blood off.
Done with that, I dried them as she just stood there, watching.
Shock.
Clearly, she was in some sort of shock.
I reached for her again, turning her, then sinking my hands into her hips, hopping her up onto the counter, then grabbing bunches of paper towels, wetting them, and working on her bloodstained legs.
I could feel her gaze on me as I worked, but she said nothing. I asked her for nothing, just trying to take care of this task for her since she didn’t seem capable of doing it for herself.
It wasn’t until the garbage was full of bloody paper towels and the water was off that my gaze finally found hers again.
“What happened?” I asked, voice low.
“He was shot,” she said, pain slicing across her eyes before she squeezed them tightly shut.
“Your neighbor?” I asked, thinking of the police tape across the hall.
