AMANDA
“You’re acting like I got hit by a truck,” Ashton mutters.
I smirk. The brute is smirking. Like he didn’t almost die. Like he isn’t lying here, stitched together, still bleeding, while I clean up the mess of him.
And yet, the first thing he does after waking up? Try to get up like some invincible i***t.
I shove him back down with a glare. “No hands, bad boy.” I jerk his arm away when he tries to stop me, shooting him a warning look. “Let’s clean your wounds first, okay? Gosh, you’re such a baby.”
The others were out gathering intel, trying to figure out how to take down Theodus, how to end this war before it swallowed us whole. Luther said I should stay behind and take care of Ashton.
If only he knew.
I swallow hard, pressing the cloth to his wound with a little too much for
