And for one stupid second—I smiled.
It had been three days since he’d touched me, spoken to me, or even looked at me like I existed. And now here he was.
Until he jerked my arm again.
“You’re bleeding,” he said flatly, with zero concern. Just blunt observation and a familiar note of annoyance.
My smile dropped.
“Bleeding?” I echoed, confused.
But then I felt it—the uncomfortable, sticky warmth between my thighs. My eyes drifted downward. And then I saw the sheets.
Blood.
Period blood.
Panic surged through my chest like lightning.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no—
I looked at Kross.
He looked back at me.
He hadn’t realized yet, had he? Gods, tell me he hadn’t connected the dots. The smell could pass as a wound. Right? It wasn’t that strong yet—was it?
“Did you cut yourself in your sleep
