Isabella woke to the sound of breathing beside her bed. The room was dim. Fever heat still ran along her skin. Her lips were dry. A shape moved in the chair. The chair scraped softly on the stone.
Liam sat there. He had a cup in his hand. Steam had gone from the surface, but the water still looked cool and clean.
“Drink," he said. His voice was quiet.
He brought the cup close to her mouth. She saw his hand, his wrist, the soft line of a bandage where her teeth had marked him long ago. The sight turned her stomach.
She pushed his hand away. She did not push hard, but he had leaned close. The cup slipped from his fingers. It struck the table and spun. Water flew across the room. Drops hit the floor. Some struck his face and his coat. The cup rolled and rang once and fell still on its sid
