Aria’s POV
The blood won’t come off.
I’m scrubbing my hands in the Blackwood House kitchen sink — the same sink where I just boiled water for sutures an hour ago — and the blood won’t come off.
Not Jax’s. Not the rogues’.
Mine. From my knuckles. Split open when I hit the stone patio catching myself after the second kill.
Doctor, heal thyself. Right.
“Here.”
Kieran.
He doesn’t touch me. Just sets a clean towel on the counter. And my scalpel.
Washed. Sterilized. Laid on gauze like it belongs in an OR and not a war zone.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. My voice is raw. From yelling orders. From the rogue who called me w***e before I put a bolt in his throat.
“I know.” He leans against the counter. Not crowding. Just… there. “Mara said you sterilize it you
