“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”
“Thought you might have left.”
The words confuse me, making my hands go still. “Where would I have gone?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says roughly, wincing as I continue removing his shirt. “You’re here now.”
The wounds I uncover make me gasp—gashes across his chest and abdomen, bite marks on his shoulder, claw marks down his ribs. But as I grab a cloth and start cleaning the blood away, something makes me frown.
“These aren’t very deep,” I murmur, dabbing gently at a particularly nasty-looking scratch.
“I told you, I won,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving my face. “I just took some damage doing it.”
“Four shifters, though?” I shake my head, reaching for some bandages. “I can’t believe they managed to get the jump on you.”
“They were wai
