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30
SAVANNAH
I driftedinto awareness with the scent of musk, bergamot, and cedar in my nose.
Maybe because it wasn't fish, that was why I woke up.
Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that I was being carried... Last time, the pain… A stranger who wasn’t a stranger…
I jolted awake.
Then sagged as I blinked up into Aidan's face.
Not a kidnapper.
"Go back to sleep," he rumbled, carrying me around like he hadn't just dislocated his shoulder and had spent an evening torturing men.
I wasn’t sure which concerned me more, especially when I threw in his knee for good measure.
But cold logic told me that he knew what he was doing and that my best option was not to fidget and to stay deathly still so he wouldn't drop me.
"Where are we going?" I whispered sleepily.
"Home," was his answer, and I pressed my face into his throat, allowing him to take me downstairs when I had a set of legs that were in full working order.
The elevator cocooned us in a silence we didn't break, not even when I saw the bruising to his eyes, the cut on his nose, nor when I input the code into our door, or when he walked me over to the bedroom.
He placed me on the bed then spent the next minute shucking out of his clothes.
In the light from the moon, I watched him. "You have more bruises than earlier."
"One of the fuckers head-butted me."
He didn’t sound angry, more amused.
Frowning, I asked, "Which one?"
"The guy whose eye I jabbed. Hal."
"You got him for both of us then."
"I did." He cast me a look. "The doctor said you have a mild concussion."
"I know. Conor set an alarm to wake me every hour," I groused before, arching a brow at him, I demanded, "Did you see a doctor?"
His hum told me everything.
Damn men.
Huffing, I asked, "What time is it anyway?"
"Nearly six AM."
I yawned and held out a hand for him. When he took it, I hid a grimace as the cuts on my fingers made themselves known.
"How bad are they cut up?" he asked, tracing the Band-Aids as he climbed into bed beside me.
"Not too bad. Just superficial."
