Page 44 of The Tribrid Princess and the Taste of Chaos
I look away. “Apologise for what? Being pretty useless or for this?” I glance at my left shoulder, which has a bandage wrapped around it. “Because if it’s the latter, I don’t fucking need your apology.”
She looks away. “Both. I am sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. You should have let it attack me. You didn’t need to protect me.”
I scoff, cocking a brow. Yeah, because I’m going to let something happen to the sister of one of my closest friends.
“News flash, Rossi, you were put in my division. You are my fucking responsibility. Even if you’re just a burden, you are still under my watch. And unlike you, I take my responsibilities seriously.” My tone is harsh, but I really don’t give a shit.
She looks down at the small bag she’s holding. And I hate that for a moment, I feel bad for her.
This is Leo’s fault. She shouldn’t be here if she can’t control her shit, and she clearly can’t speak up for herself, either. Not when it comes to arguing with anyone from her family. I saw the way she lashed out at Sato, and saw the same fire I have seen in her when she was younger. It’s there, just buried under so much other shit.
“I brought some medical items. There are some spelled patches that will help with the pain until it heals… I’m sorry.” Her voice ends in a whisper, her gaze still lowered, her lashes brush her cheeks as she looks down at the bag again, and I look away, frustrated.
We’re close… too close, and I know she’s aware of it, too.
Don’t fuck with my head.
“Drop the act,” I say coldly, turning and walking back over to the counter. “Leave.”
I didn’t shower in our dorm because I didn’t want Artemis to get up in my fucking business. It’ll heal…
“They’re really good. Please, at least try them.”
I cock a brow, glancing at her in the mirror as she comes over, emptying the contents of the bag onto the counter. Her seductive scent, which only seems to be growing more potent with every passing month, tickles my nose. She smells of cherries, moonflower and amber.
For a second, I close my eyes, relishing in that delicious concoction before I turn my head away from her, refusing to watch her.
“Please?”
She’s too close. I can feel the heat of her body against my arm, so I turn, leaning against the counter and nod my head towards my shoulder. “Go for it.”
She looks up at me, surprise flashing across her face. “What?”
“Apply it then.”
Her heart’s racing as she looks at the items she’s brought before looking at my arm. She nods slowly, only making the curls that frame her face brush against it, one stray strand stubbornly remaining. She doesn’t move it and slowly reaches for my bandaged arm, the urge to move it away itching at my fingers.
She’s nervous, and she keeps looking at my face as if expecting me to do something, but I simply stay where I am, hands braced against the counter I’m leaning against. And I don’t bother bending down or making it easier for her to reach me. She doesn’t tell me to either. Instead, she tiptoes, reaching up as she begins to unwrap my shoulder.
I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her up close… for this long anyway.
Her beauty spot is so perfectly placed above her lip on the left side, her slender nose, perfect skin…
She’s taking good care not to touch me, and I almost scoff at that. She has no issue taking Renji’s hand or touching him.
I frown as I watch her, my gaze now dipping to her body, and I force my gaze away from her breasts and instead focus on her butterfly tattoos. There are a few new ones, or I’ve just never seen them before. There’s a tiny one just behind her ear… There were nine before. Is that seventeen now? My eyes trail over her arms and her wrists. I know she has the ones on her thighs. I’m not sure how many. I didn’t get a proper look.
She gasps, and I’m snapped out of my thoughts, looking at her, but her eyes are on my arm. “Were you bitten?” she asks, her heart hammering. She reaches up, her fingers ghosting along my skin mere centimetres away from my wound, and I tense.
“Sorry,” she whispers, concern flooding her eyes as she looks up at me. She thinks I’m in pain when her touch is that gentle? “I’m so sorry. Did you tell the school healer that you may have been bitten? I know a spell that can cleanse the wound before we bind it.”
“You’ll end up fucking that up, too,” I say coldly. I don’t know what she’s playing at. Sometimes she acts fucking incapable and all tragic, and then at times you can tell she’s more than that. Is it all an act to get sympathy? So she can be the poor little orphan girl who lost her dad?
She’s fine to do whatever girls do to make their hair all pretty and cake on the makeup…
“I won’t. I promise,” she whispers softly.
“Stop talking in that irritating tone,” I reply icily, because it really fucks with my head. She looks startled and maybe a tad confused.
