about the fact she’s hunting me, I rush over to her house and open the door. It’s a testament to how hurt she is that she didn’t lock it. However, an alarm instantly goes off, and she’s before me. A blade is held in her shaky, bloodied grasp, pointing at me. Her eyes are narrowed, her nostrils flaring in anger.
“You want to fight or fuck?” she snaps. “Now is not the time. Wait for tomorrow, and I’ll kill you then.” Her hand with the blade drops, and she winces. I run my eyes down her, cataloguing her injuries. Her other hand is clutching her side, and she’s in nothing but a bra and some jeans. Her once tanned skin is mottled, speckled with blood, and she’s clutching the wound as blood oozes through it. She also has a hole in her thigh which is weeping blood.
Silver, if I’m not wrong.
She looks like she’s been in a war. “What happened?” I demand.
“Fuck off,” she barks.
I step closer, head lowered, eyes narrowed on her. “You’re hurt. What happened?” I ask again slowly, dangerously.
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Just a job, don’t worry, I’ll be fine to hunt your ass tomorrow.”
“Amore, you better tell me right now.”
She stumbles back into the wall, looking tired and pale. “Get it over with.”
“What?” I query, confused.
“Trying to kill me,” she mumbles. “I can still fight you off.”
Growling, I grab her. She stabs at me, but I ignore it as I head into the living room and lay her down on the couch. “Hey!” she protests as I turn her thigh gently, my big hands clenching around her leg. I look up, and she swallows.
“I’ll be gentle. We need to get the bullet out,” I tell her softly.
She bites her lip, and her eyes flicker to the table behind me. I turn and grab the tweezers there. I smell the alcohol already cleansing them and, careful not to hurt her any more than I need to, I slowly insert them into the wound. She grunts, her leg jerking, and the sound goes right through me to my heart, cracking it. Knowing she’s in pain is killing me, but I don’t stop. We need to get it out before it infects her or worse, her skin heals around it. I have to dig, but she doesn’t protest or move again, and eventually, I manage to fish it out. I put the bullet and tweezers on the table, and then I turn back and, eyes on hers, lean down and kiss near the wound. Almost tasting her blood.
She watches me with distrust. “Why are you helping me?”
“So suspicious all the time, amore.” I grin.
“Stop calling me that, my name is Remi,” she snaps, and then blinks like she can’t believe she told me it.
“Khalid,” I tell her honestly, and she nods before leaning back. “And I’m helping you because I want to, so stop expecting me to try and kill you. I think we can lose the sword,” I tease, but she clenches her hand around it further. “Fine, keep it, but let me look at your side.”
“It’s fine,” she snarls.
“It’s not,” I retort harshly, narrowing my eyes on her. “Stop trying to be so fucking strong, or I swear to god I will spank the shit out of you. Now let me see it.”
She debates it for a moment before turning to her side, eyes on me, as if waiting for me to attack her. To hurt her. What happened to that smiling child to make my mate into this suspicious, hurt, angry woman?
I don’t know, but I need to find out and make them pay for putting those shadows and doubts in her eyes. I left to save her from this life, and yet here we are. Her blood is on my fingers, and her pain is in my heart. I pry her other hand away and suck in a breath at the mess I find. How did she even drive home, never mind try to fight me off?
Her side is burnt all the way down to the bone. It’s bad. I look up to see her eyes still on me. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” she replies sarcastically. “It’s a fucking picnic.”
“Least your humour is still intact.” I lean back. “You need to shift to heal.”
She purses her lips. “I know, so get out so I can.”
“Oh, I’m not leaving, amore,” I fire back.
“Yes, you fucking are,” she snarls, sitting up as she presses the tip of