His Bullet Bound Me

Chapter 7 - The Thank You That Changed Everything

All the world’s noise faded again. Sirens, cameras, shouted orders—they all slid into the background as those storm-grey eyes locked onto her.

For a crazy moment, she wanted to say something unfiltered.

Don’t die.Don’t leave.Don’t treat yourself like you’re already gone.

What came out instead was, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “But I can still move, so it counts.”

“Your standards are terrible.”

“They keep people alive.”

He started to pull back. She tightened her grip on his sleeve.

“Wait.”

He paused. “Aurora.”

She swallowed. “Thank you.”

His throat worked.

“For carrying you?” he asked.

“For not putting me down,” she said. “Even when you should.”

There was a flicker in his eyes that had nothing to do with pain. A spark, quick and dangerous, that could, given oxygen, turn into something else entirely.

“Get your seat belt on,” he said hoarsely. “We’re not out of this yet.”

She clicked the buckle obediently, watching him as he shut the door. For the first time, she noticed how stiff his left arm was, how his right side did most of the work. Every movement tugged at the spreading stain on his back.

The agent slid into the passenger seat. Another took the wheel.

Marcus took the space next to her.

Not in the spare fold-down seat that would’ve been more tactical.

Right next to her.

Close enough that his thigh pressed against hers as the SUV lurched into motion.

“You should lie down,” she said. “You’re losing blood.”

“Later,” he said.

“How much later?”

“When you’re somewhere they can’t reach you from a rooftop.”

She chewed her lip, studying him. His profile was all hard angles and control, but up close she could see the fine sheen of sweat at his temple, the tightness around his eyes.

“You know they’re going to run that footage all day,” she said, because if she didn’t make her mouth move, she was going to panic.

“Which footage?” he asked, gaze scanning the street through the tinted window.

“The footage of you carrying me,” she said. “Looking like a walking war crime in a suit.”

He huffed something that might, in a different universe, have been a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“They’ll slow it down,” she continued, spiraling almost conversationally. “Add dramatic music. Freeze-frame the moment my head is on your shoulder. There’ll be think pieces by dinner.”

“About what?” he asked. “TITAN’s response time?”

“About whether we’re sleeping together,” she said.

His head snapped toward her so fast she almost felt whiplash on his behalf.

“We’re not,” he said sharply.

She raised a brow. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

“That’s not—” He cut himself off, visibly strangling the sentence. “That’s not what people should be talking about right now.”

“They won’t care,” she said. “They never do. They care about the story they can sell. ‘Golden Girl Saved by Mystery Bodyguard.’ ‘Aurelia’s Princess Carried From Chaos in His Arms.’”

“Stop reading your own headlines,” he muttered.

“‘Who Is the Man Behind Aurora Lane?’” she continued mercilessly. “Subheading: ‘And How Long Until He Breaks Her Heart?’”

His jaw locked so hard she heard the grind.

“No one,” he said, “is going to break your heart while I’m on this job.”

The way he said it—

Not like a vow he was making to her.

Like a threat he was making to the entire world.

Warmth curled under her ribs, unsettling and sweet.

“Maybe I want my heart broken,” she said lightly. “You know, for character development.”

“Aurora.”

“I’m kidding,” she added quickly. “Mostly.”

He shook his head, looking away, as if he needed the distance to keep from saying more. “You’re in shock. You’re not allowed to make jokes about your heart right now.”

“What am I allowed to make jokes about?”

“Nothing.”

She smiled, small but real. “Control freak.”

“Survivor,” he corrected.

There was a beat of silence.

“You know what’s funny?” she said quietly.

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“I should feel humiliated,” she said. “I fell. I got dragged around. You carried me like—I don’t know. Like I weighed as much as your gear bag. The cameras caught every second. Old Aurora would be dying inside right now.”

His gaze tipped back to her, slow and assessing. “And new Aurora?”

She took a breath.

“New Aurora,” she said, “is trying very hard not to think about how right it felt.”

His fingers flexed on his thigh, then reached out and covered hers completely.

“That’s adrenaline talking,” he said.

“That’s me talking.”

“You don’t know me,” he reminded her.

She smiled faintly. “I know you’re the only person who moved toward me today when everyone else moved away.”

His throat bobbed.

“You know my job description,” he said. “Not me.”

“Then tell me something that isn’t in your file,” she said. “One thing.”

He hesitated.

Then, almost grudgingly: “I don’t like hospitals.”

“Trauma center doesn’t count?” she asked.

“It counts too much.”

“Scared of needles?” she teased.

“Scared of watching people bleed out while you can’t do anything,” he said bluntly.

Her smile faded.

“How many?” she asked softly.

“Too many,” he said. “And I’m not adding you to the list.”

She looked at him, really looked, and for the first time the word armor shifted in her mind.

Armor was heavy.Armor was dented.Armor carried the marks of every hit it had already taken.

Maybe that was why he felt so solid when he held her. He knew exactly how to take impact.

She slid her hand across the seat until her fingers brushed his.

He went still.

She didn’t grab. Didn’t cling.

Just… rested her hand there. A question more than a gesture.

For a long, breathless moment, he didn’t respond.

Then his hand turned, palm up. He threaded his fingers through hers, firm and very, very real.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, almost reflexively.

She thought of the red dot. The crack of the second shot. The way his body had come between her and everything else, again and again, like he’d been built for that one purpose.

“Yes,” she said.

His shoulders tensed.

“Where?” he demanded.

She lifted their joined hands slightly.

“Right here,” she said softly. “But I think it’s… fixable.”

He exhaled slowly, some of the tension bleeding from his frame, though his grip didn’t loosen.

“That’s above my pay grade,” he said.

“Lucky for you,” she murmured, “it’s not above mine.”

Outside, Aurelia City blurred by in streaks of light and shadow.

Inside the SUV, in the small space between danger and whatever came next, Aurora Lane sat with her fingers tangled in the hand of the man who’d carried her like she already belonged to him.

And for the first time in a very long time, she let herself wonder—

What if she did?