Before I can argue that point, his gaze shifts to my throat and narrows at what I imagine has to be the purple imprint of a hand. “I should have killed him slower.” “I’m fine.” I’m not. His focus snaps back to my eyes. “Never lie to me.” He says it with such ferocity, bit out through gritted teeth, that I can’t help but nod in promise. “It hurts,” I admit. “Let me see.”
