Milk & Gunpowder

Chapter Seven

Cynrim gently touched his shoulder. "We need to get you off the couch," she said softly, concern threading every word. "It's soaked."

Rover turned his head slightly. The pillow beneath him was dark with dried blood, and the cushion beneath that was ruined. He didn't care, but she clearly did.

"My bed's cleaner. You'll be more comfortable there," she added. "Can you stand?"

He gave her a slow nod, eyes still heavy with pain.

"Okay," she murmured, moving closer, her arm looping under his. "Put your weight on me. Just slow and steady, alright?"

That made him chuckle

a low, rough sound he hadn't meant to let slip. "If I put even ten percent of my weight on you," he rasped, "you'd be underground."

The moment the words left his mouth, a flicker of confusion passed through his eyes. Where the hell did that come from?

It was out of character. Entirely. He didn't joke. He didn't tease. That part of him had been dead a long time ,buried somewhere beneath years of bloodshed and betrayal. And yet... he'd said it. Lightly. Almost playfully.

He glanced at her.

She didn't seem to think twice about it. She just smiled softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Then give me nine."

That smile.

Something tugged at him, not in his chest, but somewhere deeper, unfamiliar.

Shaking it off, he let her help.

Her body pressed close as she guided him, step by step, to the bedroom. His steps were unsteady, his breath short, but her hands steadied him ,small, warm, insistent. When her fingers slid under his arm to adjust a bandage, his skin flinched not from pain.

From the electricity of her touch.

Inside the bedroom, she lowered him to the bed with slow, careful movements. Her strength surprised him not physical strength, but something else. Resolve. Tenderness, unshaken. She brought over a tray and knelt in front of him again ,a small bowl of steaming food in her hand.

"I don't know if you like this," she murmured, "but it'll help."

She blew gently on the spoon, cooling it. Her sleeve slipped down as she leaned in ,exposing the soft curve of her chest beneath the neckline of her shirt. Sunlight brushed her skin, highlighting every golden inch of her.

Rover's gaze caught and stayed.

She didn't notice.

She was focused only on him ,his recovery, his breath, his eyes. Her world had narrowed, and he was the center of it.

"Open," she whispered.

And he did.

Let her feed him. Let her take care of him.

And as he sat there, warmth in his mouth and heat in his veins, he wasn't thinking about his pain, or Ezren, or death.

He was trying to remember the last time someone looked at him like that...

...and failing.