“After all that,” I say, lifting my stare, “you still saved my life.” “Yes.” “Twice.” The right side of his mouth kicks up in a half smile that wrestles with my heartstrings. “Hard to turn down an opportunity to gift you the severed head of a male who made you bleed.” I open my mouth, close it. My next words are rasped past a dry throat. “I don’t understand how you still look at me like you want me.” Silence prevails, tension thickens, his eyes burning embers when he finally says, “Raeve, you could flay me down the middle and I’d still fucking love you.” All the breath shoves from my lungs.
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