Third Person's POV
"Sweetie, stop crying," Andrea said, gently stroking Elena's back.
"Come on, let's get you into bed. You don't want to pull at those wounds; they'll get infected."
"Okay," Elena sniffled, letting Andrea lead her toward the hospital bed.
She hadn't taken two steps before Pheisar grabbed her hand.
He was spiraling. His eyes were shot through with broken blood vessels, and his pheromones were a jagged, foul-smelling mess of anxiety.
He looked like a man possessed by the pain of being abandoned—filled with a twisted victim complex, as if Elena were the one who had betrayed him.
Elena's brow furrowed. They had been over for a long time; she was truly done with his obsession.
She tried to yank her hand away, but that only set him off. He jerked her toward him, forcing
