“I’m not a sun.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m only a sun because I have to be, you know? Because without it, the world dies a little, and I know if I’m not bright when I can be, I’ll die too.”
“Marcos.”
God.My next inhale hurt, and I started tugging at my hair. The pain it caused protected me from numbness.
“Marcos.”
I found his eyes through a pile of my curls. A second of silence curved around us before I scooted an inch closer to him.
The pants he wore bunched at the calf, exposing another patch of tattoos wound around his ankle. Like yesterday, I placed my pinky finger against the bold lines and followed the design.
“Sounds like you’ve been fooling everyone.”
His voice was deep, but it wasn’t harsh. Not when he spoke to me. It was warm, somehow. Rounded and cozy, even when he was being demanding.
“Even you?”
“Never me.”
Blood swam in my ears. My breath escaped my lungs in a single motion. I wondered if this was what Ivan felt like when his back hit that floor or if this out-of-sorts feeling was something special for people like me.
I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was, “Have you ever killed someone?”
His muscles stiffened beneath my touch. I watched his throat move just before he said, “Yes.”
“Me too.”
His head tilted, ears twitching as if questioning whether they’d heard me correctly. When I said nothing, he beckoned me with a single blink and a simple quirk of his finger.
I rose to my knees, and he looked pointedly at the spot between his thighs.
“I… can’t get that close to your wound. You shouldn’t even be sitting up this high; you’ll irritate your stitches.”
“Come. Here.”
I huffed a little but followed his order, shuffling toward the top of the bed. His heavy gaze was all over me, and when I finally reached the spot he wanted, he made a distinct sound of approval and said, “Good boy.”
I almost begged him to say it again.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to pop a stitch.”
“My incision is fine, Marcos. I promise. You’re not even that close to it.”
I stuck my nose up. “That’s not true. I could lift my hand and flick it if I wanted to.”
“Is that what you’re planning?”
“No. I’m just saying that I could if I wanted to.”
He chuckled and pressed his palm to the curve of my neck. “But you won’t because you’re a good boy, so why don’t you help me understand what you meant.”
“What is there to understand?”
He frowned. “You’ve killed someone?”
