Page 44 of Unveiled

Will it be like having sex with one of those vampires?

Oh my god. Sex. I can’t think of that. I need to talk to Ophelia.

Now.

I swallow hard as the kettle bubbles and steam hisses behind me. It’s ready. “Here, let me have your cup.”

I place a teabag in Stefan’s mug and pour the steaming water. But I’m not focused, and the mug slips, the boiling water splashing over my hand.

“Shit!” I yelp, jerking back and cradling my hand. I run to the sink, turning on the cold water, hissing as the burnstings. Before I can grab a towel or think straight, Semyon is there, right in my space.

“Let me see,” he says briskly, his voice low.

“It’s fine.” I clutch my wrist tighter.

“Anya.” His voice has that edge again—quiet, unrelenting. Not a question but a command.

I hold out my hand, trembling. I don’t want him to touch me again, but I can’t stop him. His large, calloused fingers take my wrist with surprising gentleness, turning it over to inspect the red, angry skin.

“You shouldn’t be so careless,” he scolds, his eyes focused on the burn as he guides my hand under the cold water.

“Thanks for the advice,” I snap, sarcasm lacing my shaky voice because it fucking hurts. But it comes out weaker than I intended.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he grabs a clean dishcloth, wets it under cold water, and presses it against my wrist. I hiss at the contact, but his grip doesn’t waver.

“You’ll blister if you don’t cool it down quickly,” he says, his voice rougher now.

I glance at him, caught off guard by the tight line of his jaw and the way his brows draw together. He avoids my gaze, focusing entirely on my injury, but the tension in his shoulders betrays something else.

Semyon isn’t cold right now. He’s not happy but not furious. He isn’t detached either. He’s just… there. Solid. Present.

Something inside me breaks then. It’s been so damn long since I’ve had another adult I could lean on other than Ophelia.

My breath hitches as his thumb brushes against the inside of my wrist—a faint touch, but it sends heat racing up my arm that has nothing to do with the burn. I hate myself for melting under his gentleness.

“There’s a first aid kit in the pantry,” he says, breaking the moment as he turns away. “I’ll get it. Keep that cloth against your skin.”

When he returns, he unfolds a perfectly organized kit, takes out a small packet of burn relief cream, and murmurs, “Let me see.”

He stands in front of me, masculine, strong, so in charge.

I show him my wrist and flinch when he smears cream on it before he takes out gauze and carefully wraps it.

“Leave it like this until I tell you to take it off.”

For a moment, I just nod. I don’t want to argue with him.

“Anya? Are you okay?” Stefan asks from across the room.

“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “You need to be careful with hot things.”

Semyon grumbles under his breath but goes back to the table. I watch him and wish I could bring him back.

Stefan moves a checker piece and hops over one of Semyon’s. “I’m gonna beat you,” he says with a grin.

Semyon rolls his eyes. “I’d like to see you try.” On the nextmove, he jumps four of Stefan’s pieces and collects them in his hand.

Stefan’s face falls.

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