Beck stalks across the room and grabs my shoulders. The spring green of his eyes has gone dark and dangerous as he tilts his head to examine the scrapes on my face. “I–” I flinch when he grabs my wrist hard and turns my hand over, exposing the torn skin. “I promise it’s not as bad as it seems.” “Look at me, Dallas.” When I meet his gaze, his stubbled jaw tightens. “Who touched you?” he asks in a terrifyingly quiet voice.
