Page 65 of Molt

“Get it off!”

“We don’t know what happens if you do.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

His control snaps.

“BECAUSE YOU’RE THE ONE WHO MIGHT BLEED.”

I stop.

So does he.

The apartment goes silent.

His chest rises and falls. His hand still circles my wrist. The anger in his face disappears almost immediately. He looks wrecked. “I’m sorry.”

I stare at him. “You care if I bleed?”

His brows pull together. “What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course I care.”

I look at the extra finger. Then touch the scar across the knuckle.

August sucks in a breath.

I freeze. “You felt that.”

“No.”

I touch it again slowly.

His jaw clenches.

“You did.”

“Lenora.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“What does it feel like?”

He looks at me.

And suddenly I know. Heat curls low in my stomach.

“Interesting.”

“Don’t.”