Viktoria POV
I’m shaking. Marco’s right—we’re both in trouble. Kyra told me to stay away from her husband, and I agreed. Yet here I am, on my very first night in this house, already caught in a compromising position.
Marco paces in the living room like a cornered cat while I towel off fast, and drag on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He looks restless, hands shoved into his pockets, running them through his hair every few seconds. The smirk that was on his face earlier is gone. The implication of the situation has come home to him.
“What are you still doing here?” I ask. “You should leave.”
He stops pacing and looks at me, his eyes squinched into two dark slits.
“How did you do it?” he asks.
“Do what?”
“Heal me.” His voice is gruff now, not the Marco who just had a moment with me.
