Arwen
Viggo fussed over me all night. The doctor allowed Viggo to take me to his room on the understanding that I rested. I had no choice when Viggo wouldn’t let me do anything else.
I cannot deny that I slept so well wrapped in Viggo’s arms. I had never felt so safe.
When I awoke this morning, Viggo entered the room with a tray of breakfast and a jug of juice. We ate together, and it was pleasant. I could tell that Viggo still felt guilty about what happened to me, but it wasn’t his fault. However, there are only so many times I can say the same thing before the words lose meaning.
A tear slid down my cheek as I faced myself in the mirror. I couldn’t see beneath the dressing, but I feel the gash pulsing, raw and ugly. My skin throbs from temple to jaw. That Rogue marked me—my face wil
