Page 47 of The Ripper

“Does he have any diseases?” she asked as she rolled up the sleeve of her T-shirt to her shoulder.

“What?”

“Diseases. Something that can be transmitted through blood, like HIV.”

“No, he’s healthy. What are you doing?” I asked as she tightened a band over her own bicep.

“He needs blood, and I’m a universal donor,” she explained without looking at me, slapping her arm.

I almost saw stars when I realized her intention.

Before I could stop her, she pushed the other needle into her vein and hissed at the pain as my heart hammered in my chest. Her blood flowed through the tube straight into my brother’s veins, and I was awestruck.

She didn’t know him. She didn’t know me. I could have been lying about him being healthy, but she trusted me and risked her safety to save his life. Just like that, donating blood to a total stranger, without even batting an eye.

~ She’s a goddess. I’m officially her number one fan.

~ Fuck off, she’s mine.

~ Technically, she’s ours.

A low growl escaped my lips without me realizing it, and I shook my head a little to get him to shut up. Arella’s brows drew together as she watched me, but she didn’t say anything about my reaction.

She was panting, probably because she was tired, her night having been so long it should have exhausted her, but she was awake, her eyelids lazily moving with each blink as she sat down in the chair next to the bed and rested her arm next to Klaus’.

Such a mesmerizing painting.

Arella with messy hair, covered in blood and wearing my T-shirt, was undoubtedly the most incredible thing I ever had the privilege of witnessing.

I leaned against the door as I watched her, and raised my hand up to my shoulder, then gritted my teeth as I felt the damp fabric of my T-shirt.

She looked at me with a frown, then smiled knowingly and shook her head.

“You tore your stitches, didn’t you?”

“I’m fine,” I told her as I took off my T-shirt and went to the mirror to look at the damage.

A few minutes passed as I cleaned the wound on my own and threaded the needle to stitch myself back up, but her hand on my back stopped me. Her skin was a little cold, but her touch burned me.

The needle in her arm was gone, a small band aid covering the mark.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” she repeated my words, and I laughed.

Genuinely.

I turned to look at her, noticing the deep circles, and the reddish webs staining the whites of her beautiful eyes, but even though her body was begging her to get some rest, she still wanted to help me, because that’s who she was as a person. A helper. A healer. A fucking saint.

She led me back to the chair where she’d sat earlier, then took the needle from me and proceeded to patch me up again, focused on her task. Seemingly unscathed by my staring at her face as the needle pierced my skin repeatedly. I was so entranced by the expression on her face that I didn’t even feel the pain anymore.

After she was done, she used a sterilized cloth to wipe away the blood on my skin and applied a clean bandage over the wound.

As she wasn’t paying attention to my face, focused on making sure the stitches were completely covered, I grabbed her thighs and pulled her onto my lap.

She gasped as I guided her legs around my torso, and her eyes widened in the most adorable way as she held onto my arms to steady herself, then our gazes met, and I was gone.

“I lied,” I said as I pulled her closer, pressing her chest against me, “I can’t let you go.

I saw the intention of a smile on her face before I crushed my lips to hers.

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