BROOK PACED THE KITCHEN, her hair swaying with each step and flicking aside with each spin. Her scent, merged with her lingering perspiration, wafted beneath my nose each time she passed. I’d suggested, after dressing, that she go wait in my room. Offered to take the flack on my own. She’d refused. Unsurprisingly. Though, that might have had something to do with how pissed she’d been at herself, when she realised just how badly she’d cut me up. Apparently, I’d probably ‘bleed to death’ if left alone for any length of time.
Leaning against the doorway to the hall, I pressed a cloth to the worst of my wounds—the only one that insisted it keep bleeding—and watched her, surprisingly calm considering the bollocking I had coming. “You sure—”
“I said, no.” The adamant response came as she tosse
