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Santos.
Santos, alive and well.
He’s dressed in a charcoal sweater and black slacks. His hair is brushed back from his face, and the scruff of his permanent five o’clock shadow has grown denser, darkening his jaw. In his eyes is a look so black, it simultaneously makes the hair on my arms stand on end and sends a flush of heat to my core. Strangely, it’s similar to how he looks when he’s aroused.
But now, it’s not arousal.
It’s anger.
I lick my lips, which are so dry they feel cracked.
“Go on.” He gestures to the nightstand with a nod of his head. “You hit your head when you fell.”
“Fell?”
He watches me, unblinking, and I can’t tell what’s going on in his mind. “Why would you go out there? What was your intention?”
I stare up at him, unsure how to answer. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I can’t tell him that. Can’t say it out loud.
“What were you going to do, Madelena?”
“I…” I start, trailing off. What should I say?
I stabbed you. I saw you bleeding out. How are you alive?
He sighs, then rises to his feet. I feel myself cower backward as he crosses the room, never taking his eyes off me. I track him, holding the blanket against myself. Can I expect him to feel anything but anger? He probably thinks I tried to kill him.
I swallow and force myself to look up at him when he stands directly beside me. Still unsmiling and never once breaking eye contact, he picks up the aspirin and holds them out for me.
“Take them.”
My hand trembles and I’m careful to pluck the pills without touching him.
I put the pills into my mouth and reach to take the glass of water he offers. When our fingers brush against each other, there’s a very clear spark of electricity.
Keeping my eyes on his, I swallow the pills, drink a few more sips, then hold the glass out for him to take. He sets it aside but doesn’t move back to his seat across the room. I want him to because I need the space. The air.
But he chooses to lean against the nearest wall, stealing the oxygen from the room.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in my bed in the Augustine family home.”
I glance around again. “How did I get here?”
“I brought you. You were passed out on the catwalk of the lighthouse. Care to tell me how you got there and who put the bruises on you?” He gestures with a glance toward my jaw.
I touch it, realizing the soreness must be from when the man gripped me to slam my head against the wall.
“You… You’re… I thought I killed you,” I tell him.
“I’m not so easy to kill, remember?”
Confused, I bring my hand to my forehead because I know what I saw. I remember how bad he looked as he lay unconscious, blood pouring from his side and his face bleached of color.
He lifts his sweater. Beneath it, I see the bandage on his side, the dark stain of blood. “Didn’t hit anything vital. Close though.” He studies me for a beat before continuing. “Hate to disappoint you.”
We’d been at the dinner. Odin had come with news about Uncle Jax’s death… About Santos’s involvement. I’d run, but Santos had come after me, and I’d stabbed him. It was an accident, but that hardly matters.
