Evgeniya
I had been so engrossed in Bastiaan’s words, I hadn’t seen my father moving at all, let alone attempt to stand.
“Dad!” I shot up, shaking out the cramp in my legs “Are you ok? How’s your heart? Does anywhere hu-oooh my goddess!”
I slapped a hand over my eyes too late as my father stood, seeing him naked far more times than I ever wanted.
I heard him grunt in exertion and a flip of fabric. When I tentatively peered through my fingers, he had wrapped a bedsheet about his waist and fisted it at the hip. The only visible black marks on his skin were his tattoos. The dark tendrils that had spread on his right side where he was shot with wolfsbane had faded and vanished, but an angry red mark remained, burning vibrantly like a hornet’s sting.
“Solnyshko, I am fine,” his tight smile
