And he was lying on top of the Emperor’s mate.
Oh draanth…
With a snarl, he scrambled backward, shoving himself off her and getting his feet under him in a rush that was nowhere near graceful.
“Get up,” he rasped.His voice sounded wrecked.“We are done.”
Reaching down, he grabbed her arm to haul her up with a roughness that made his own teeth ache.His grip was too tight, his movements jerky with the effort to put distance between them before he did something unforgivable.
She stumbled, disoriented.Her face was flushed, her eyes still hazy with the same heat that was burning him alive.
“Wait, I?—”
She tried to pull away from his bruising grip, but the heel of her boot hit a slick patch of sweat on the mat, and she went down hard.He lunged to catch her, but he was too slow.Arms flailing, she fell sideways, her hand out to break her fall.
Her palm struck the metal edge of the weapon rack.
The scent of copper hit him instantly.
Blood.Her blood.
He froze as a line of red welled up on the side of her palm, bright and shocking against her skin.
A gash.Not deep, but jagged.
Everything in him locked up.She was hurt.He'd hurt her.The red smear across her palm accused him.He’ddone this.Lost control, forgotten his damn duty, and now she was bleeding.
Dropping to his knees beside her, he reached out with hands that shook.
“Show me,” he demanded, his voice rough.He grabbed her wrist, careless of his own strength, staring at the wound.
“It’s fine,” she said, wincing.“I just slipped.It’s just a scratch, Raaevik.”
“It is bleeding.”He stared at the blood.It looked like an accusation.“We must go to the medical bay.Now.”
“Raaevik, really, it’s?—”
“Now!”he roared.
He hauled her up again, and marched her toward the door, his grip on her arm tight enough to bruise.
She needed to see a healer,fast.
* * *
Weird how hospitalsall smelled the same.The sharp, clinical bite cut through the fog in Emily’s head, leaving only the memory of Raaevik’s body pressing her into a gym mat.
Sitting on the edge of an examination bed built for someone seven feet tall, her feet dangled a good six inches off the floor.She swung them back and forth, the scuffed heels of her boots thumping softly against the metal frame.
Across the room, Raaevik stood guard by the door.He hadn’t moved in ten minutes.He looked like a statue in black leather, his gaze fixed on the wall above the healer’s head.His jaw was so tight she could see a muscle jumping near his ear.
“It’s a superficial laceration,” the healer, Kellat, said.A tall lathar, he had silvery hair and a teal sash across his leathers.He ran a small device over her palm without actually touching her skin.“The dermal seal is complete.No tendon damage.No nerve damage.”
“Are you certain?”Raaevik asked.His voice was rough, like gravel grinding against itself.“There was a significant amount of blood.”
Kellat sighed.“Sub-Commander, hands are vascular.They bleed.It does not mean the limb is compromised.”
She looked down at her hand.The gash was gone, replaced by a faint pink line that looked weeks old, not minutes.It didn’t even hurt anymore.
