Page 191 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

Rurik

She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay.

No matter how many times I keep repeating that mantra in my head, I can't stop staring at her, inspecting every move she makes, her facial expressions, anything, just to ensure she's actually here and truly okay.

But she is okay.

She’s alive.

Sure, she's currently yelling at me. Something about entering her apartment without her permission, coming in unannounced, and something about how it's super late.

I don’t give a fuck about what she’s saying right now, to be honest.

Because right now, I can’t focus on anything other than the fact that she's been keeping her right wrist flat on the counter on top of an ice pack.

“What the fuck happened?” I blurt out, uncrossing my arms and closing the distance between us.

Briar stops talking mid-rant and blinks owlishly, likely confused by the sudden change of topic.

Fuck, she’s so damn pretty.

She’s hurt, asshole. Focus on that.

I nod toward her wrist, afraid to touch it. “What the fuck happened?” I repeat.

She closes her mouth and drops her look of confusion. She glares at me, “Were you even listening to me? I said, how the hell did you get into my apartment?”

“Why can’t you ever answer my fucking question!” I snap back, turning around and walking out of the kitchen.

Briar releases a sound like she’s offended and follows me. “Where are you going?”

Ignoring her, I head straight to her bathroom and open the cabinet that houses her first aid kit. I whirl around and almost smack into her. Growling, I gently grab her elbow and lead her back to the living room, forcing her to sit down.

“What are you… Rurik, my wrist is already wrapped.” She grumbles.

“I see that,” I say. “Did you let a five-year-old do it?”

She sputters, her cheeks growing pink. “Asshole.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m your asshole.”

She sucks in a sharp breath as I unwrap the god-awful work she's done. I look up at her when she says nothing after a few minutes. “What? No good comebacks? You must have really injured your head when you came in to attack my stepdad.”

Immediately, her face darkens. “Fuck you, Rurik. You and your stepdad.”

“If you fuck my stepdad, then we’re going to have a severe fucking problem,” I snark, swooping in to kiss her wrist.

Ignoring her half-ass grumbles, I wrap the bandage around her hand, starting at the fingers, then encircling her hand, thumb, and index finger before looping it around her wrist several times until I'm satisfied.

“There,” I say, closing the first aid kit before looking up at her. “All done.”

She just glares at me.

Seriously?

“Still a brat,” I mutter, standing up to put everything away.

“You haven’t answered what you’re doing here.”

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