I braced myself as Kieran approached my on the bed. My pulse climbed loud and frantic, thudding against my ribs like it wanted out. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, pounding out a rhythm of warning. My back tensed, ready to duck, fight, flee—anything. My fingers curled into fists at my sides. This was it. He’d finally decided to take what he believed was his. I told myself I wouldn’t flinch. Wouldn’t cower. If he tried, I’d make him bleed.
But he didn’t grab me. Instead, he crouched in front of me, his hand reaching, not for my throat, not for my waist, but for my arm. I blinked, confused, body still braced for violence as his fingers brushed my skin. He turned my arm gently in his palm, inspecting the jagged cuts that trailed across it. My brain scrambled to catch up.
Kieran rose
