Page 49

Andrei stands at the bottom of the stairs, soaked in blood.

For a second, my heart forgets how to beat. The dark red stains his shirt, his hands, and even the side of his face, and the sight of it sends a cold wave of fear crashing through me.

He stops there, still as stone, lifting his head slowly until his eyes lock onto mine. We hold each other’s gaze across the distance.

Then he speaks, his voice rough, steady, like nothing about this is unusual.

“Why are you not in bed?”

I blink at him, stunned. Really? That’s his response?

He starts climbing the stairs in controlled steps. My pulse races as he gets closer, and the moment he reaches the top, I finally take him in fully.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice tighter than I intend.

He looks at me calmly. “It’s not all my blood.”

That does not have the reassuring effect he might have hoped for. Because if it’s not all his blood… that means some of it is.

“Are you hurt?” I ask quickly.

A faint smile touches his lips, almost amused. “Do not worry about me.”

And just like that, he turns and walks into his bedroom. I hesitate for half a second, then follow him.

“What happened?” I ask again, unable to stop myself.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he heads straight into the bathroom and begins stripping off his clothes like I’m not even there. His shirt goes first, peeling away from his body, and that’s when I see a bandage wrapped around his left arm. My breath catches.

If he knows I’m watching him, he doesn’t show it. He continues removing the rest of his clothes with quiet efficiency until he’s completely naked.

I find myself taking him in despite myself. The strength in his shoulders, hard lines of muscle across his chest. The power in the way he moves. Then he steps into the shower, turning on the water without a word.

I exhale slowly and back out of the bathroom, retreating into the bedroom. I walk to the window and stare outside, needing a moment to steady myself. Beyond the glass, the world is still wrapped in darkness, a quiet kind that comes just before dawn, when night hasn’t fully let go yet and morning hasn’t arrived.

I stand there, lost in my thoughts, until the sound of the bathroom door opening pulls me back.

I turn.

Andrei steps out. A towel is wrapped low around his waist, water still dripping from his hair, sliding down his chest and tracing slow paths along his skin before disappearing beneath the edge of the fabric.

For a second, I just stare.

My mind betrays me, painting images I have no business thinking of, leaning in, of tracing those drops with my tongue, of feeling the heat of his skin beneath my hands. I snap out of it quickly, forcing my gaze upward.

“Why are you not in bed?” he asks again.

I shake my head, crossing my arms lightly over my chest.

“I had a nightmare,” I admit.

He goes still, studying me in that intense way of his that makes it feel like he can see straight through my skin.

Then he speaks, quieter this time. “You do not sleep much, do you?”

I give a small shake of my head. “No.”

I’ve always been plagued by nightmares.