“Bastian?” I choke out. Blinking, my vision clears enough for his face to come into focus.
The expression on his face looks downright murderous but softens a fraction at the crack in my voice, before he resettles into vicious Bastian. “Stay here,” he commands before dropping my hand and turning on my assailants.
I find my feet backing towards the wall behind me on their own. I close my eyes as I brace myself on the bricks. The pained grunts, shuffling of feet, and crunching bones are all I can hear. I squeeze my eyes tighter.
Suddenly there’s a touch under my chin, making me flinch back further into the wall.
“Staellara, open your eyes,” Bastian whispers.
When I blink them open, he’s standing in front of me, only slightly mussed from the fight, but otherwise perfectly intact. His finger rests underneath my chin, keeping my face tilted up towards him. My eyes slide off to the side, trying to catch a glimpse behind him.
“Don’t,” he snaps, voice sharp. My eyes instantly jump back to his. They’re filled with an icy rage that I can see in his features so clearly, it’s as if I can feel it deep in my chest.
He’s angry—no, pissed actually.
“Let’s go,” he says before grabbing my wrist in a firm but loose grip and tugging me along with him, moving so quickly that I don’t even get a chance to look behind us at my attackers.
He doesn’t say another word as he marches through the city streets back to the inn. He drops his grip on my wrist the second we reach the canal path, and he knows I’ll follow. I keep sneaking glances at him out of the corner of my eye and he maintains a hard expression. Lips thin, jaw clenching and unclenching, brows furrowed.
Fuck.First, I kiss him, when I really shouldn’t have. Now I’ve gone and nearly gotten myself killed and he had to rescue my ass. He hates me. I’m sure of it. There’s definitely no way we’re even close to being friends after this. I’ve absolutely fucked this whole thing up.
I bite my lip to fight back the rising emotions in me. I don’t want to cry in front of him, but also the adrenaline of the attack has worn off and I’mexhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I’ve been through the wringer tonight.
He’s quick to usher me up the stairs and into the inn. Before I know it, we’re in our room. The second the door shuts, he leans his forehead up against the wood and simply takes deep breaths. His hands are balled into fists, resting above his head. They’re squeezed so tight, his knuckles are white. I don’t even know what to do or say at this point. I can feel the fuming anger radiating off his body.
I shift on my feet where I stand in the middle of the room. “Bastian?” I whisper, the words barely making a sound while also sounding entirely too loud in the silence of the room.
He whips his body around to face me, his eyes wild, crazed. This is no longer anger, but I can’t quite decipher what exactly it is.
In a blink, he’s across the room and I’m being scooped into his arms, pulled tight into his chest. “Are you okay?” he mumbles into my hair.
I nod into his chest, refusing to speak because I can almost guarantee my voice will crack or I’ll cry. Doesn’t he know you can’t ask someone if they’re okay like that? It’s like he’s asking me to fall apart and I’m doing everything I can at the moment to hold my shit together.
“I don’t believe you,” he says. And I’m not even surprised that he can pick up on how I’m feeling without me even saying a thing or seeing my face. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, softly.
“It is, though.” He pulls back to stare down at my face and I can see how wrecked he is. It’s written all over his face. It’s incredible to see him wear his emotions on the surface like this when only a week ago, he would hide everything behind a mask. “If I didn’t leave you earlier, you wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place. And even then, I didn’t get to you in time before they could hurt you.” He lifts a hand to trail a finger along the small nick at the base of my throat. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking on the last word.
“No,I’msorry.”
His head jerks back. “Why are you sorry?”
I give his shoulder a gentle nudge and he reluctantly releases his hold on me. “I shouldn’t have wandered off,” I explain as I begin to pace the room. “I needed time to cool off and think and didn’t want to be cooped up in the room for that, so I went for a walk. I should’ve been paying more attention. Now you’re mad at me?—”
“I’m not mad at you,” he cuts in, brows furrowed in confusion.
I halt my pacing and plant my hands on my hips, staring at him. “You sure seem pretty mad at me. And I get it. I put myself in danger,again.”
“I’m not mad at you, Liv. I wasterrified,” he steps in front of me, cupping my cheek with his hand. “When I realized you were in trouble, I was worried for you. If anything, I’m mad at those guys. And myself. But I’m not mad at you. I couldneverbe mad at you.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, unsure if he really means that.
He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not mad that I kissed you like that while you’re mated to someone else? It was totally wrong of me and I’m so sorry. I hope things won’t be weird between us now, because I think I’d quite like it if we were friends.” I give him a watery smile and lean further into his hand.
His jaw clenches. “Friends?”
