Page 9 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

I reached the last few steps and saw that nobody else was there yet.

Apart from Kit.

Fuck.

No!

Not alone with Kit!

Anything but that!

My foot caught the edge of the final step, my trainer snagging, and suddenly—

The world tilted sideways, and then I was kissing the concrete floor.

Pain exploded across my face like someone had detonated a small bomb behind my nose. Stars burst across my vision, brilliant white flashes that made me squeeze my eyes shut.

My palms stung where they’d scraped against the rough surface, trying and failing to break my fall.

But I had bigger issues. Something warm and wet was trickling down from my nose, dripping steadily onto the concrete floor below. I touched my face tentatively and my fingers came away crimson.

Blood. Quite a lot of it, actually.

Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant.

I scrambled to push myself up. The world was a blur of fairy lights and shadow in my daze. My cheek throbbed, but I forced myself upright anyway, brushing off my hoodie with hands that shook slightly.

More drops splattered onto the floor at my feet, bright red against the grey concrete.

Heavy footsteps thundered across the basement floor, and suddenly Kit was there, his hands hovering near my shoulders like he wanted to grab me but didn’t quite dare.

“I’m fine!” I announced quickly, stumbling away from him, palms raised. “Completely fine!”

My voice came out thick and nasal, which rather undermined my argument. Panic crawled up my throat. I’d never had a nosebleed before. Was this normal? Was I supposed to be bleeding this much? What if I’d broken something important?

“You’re not fine.”

Kit’s voice was harsher than usual, that Scottish accent more pronounced. Before I could protest further, he shrugged out of his grey cardigan and grabbed the hem of his bright white T-shirt, pulling it over his head in one fluid motion.

I’m not sure which stunned me more—the shirt being pressed firmly against my nose, or Kit’s naked torso suddenly filling my field of vision.

The T-shirt was soft and warm. For some crazy reason, I had a mad urge to inhale its scent, and was rewarded by drowning myself in blood. The cotton shifted and there they were—broad shoulders, defined abs under a generous smattering of dark chest hair, scars mapping a history I had no business staring at.

I blushed furiously as he guided me towards one of the armchairs, one large hand on my elbow. At least my face was hidden under the shirt.

“This is really not necessary,” I mumbled through the makeshift compress.

“Tilt your head down and pinch your nose,” Kit ordered, settling onto his knees in front of me. “Above the nostrils, not the bridge.”

When I hesitated, he reached up and positioned my fingers correctly, his hands covering mine.

“Your hands are bleeding,” he said quietly. Then hollered in the direction of the stairs, “Priya, we need the first-aid kit!”

Oh, how is this my life?

It was awkward between me and Kit at the best of times. My fault, not his. He got on well with everyone else, was perfectly natural and chatty towards them. But with us, it was different. It had been from my very first day here, when Kit came into Seb’s office to introduce himself. I’d forced my gaze up from the carpet, prepared to mumble a quick hello to him. But Kit stared at me like I’d just fried his brain—mouth slightly open, completely frozen. When I’d finally whispered, “Hello,” he’d blinked rapidly before replying, “Yeah. Hi. I’m—yes. Kit.”

Then that first week, he’d appeared in my doorway one afternoon holding a mug of tea—Earl Grey, somehow he’d known—and we’d just stared at each other in silence until he mumbled, “Tea,” and backed away like I was going to bite him. I’d managed to whisper, “Thank you,” to his retreating form.