Page 84 of Prey Tell
“Drink,” he commands. “I’ll get some food for you.”
I take a few sips, but then I shake my head, which makes me wince. “I’m not hungry.”
He turns to face me. “Are you nauseous?”
I shrug. “Kind of.”
He bends down and props his elbows on the island, running a hand over his face.
“Fuck. You probably have a concussion.”
Just then, Luna bustles in, wearing an elegant jumpsuit and red heels. She stops when she sees me.
“Oh dear.” Walking quickly over to the pantry, I see her pull out a first-aid kit. “Dr. Hatchens is on his way,” she tells Chase, and he nods tightly. His fists are balled at his sides. His eyes scan my body quickly before he continues making me a plate of food. Luna walks over with rubber gloves, a disinfecting wipe, and a piece of gauze. “Tilt your chin up,” she says, and I hiss when she cleans the blood off with the wipe. “I don’t think she needs stitches. The gash is shallow.”
Over the next few minutes, Chase pushes a plate of crackers, gourmet cheese, and fruit over to me. I eat slowly as Luna finishes cleaning me up. Dr. Hatchens arrives, and it’s decided that I don’t have a concussion, but that I should be resting for the next forty-eight hours. He examines my ankle, too, and tells me to stay off it. I try not to pout when I realize that means no more running through the woods this weekend.
The entire time, Chase is leaning against the wall furthest from me, looking like someone gave me a goddamn death sentence.
By the time I finish eating, Luna offers to help me to the east wing, but Chase picks me up, thanks her for her help, and carries me to his living quarters.
After he sets me down on the couch, I see him walk over to the large window. My eyes skate over to the coffee table, and I quickly check my phone, responding to one of Jackson’s texts. By the time I look back up at Chase, he’s watching me with crossed arms.
And though the scene is presumably over, he still has a wild look about him—his eyes are scanning me, but in a different way this time. His face is completely closed off—his expression is emotionless as he sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
It jolts him out of whatever dark trance he was in. “You’re hurt.”
My lips quirk up. “You heard the doctor. I’m going to live,” I add, rolling my eyes.
He takes a step forward. “Listen, maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Stop,” I beg, already knowing where this is going. “Don’t use this as an excuse to push me away. I tripped on a rock. It’s not like you threw me down onto the ground and—”
“I could have.”
I swallow and take a deep breath before answering. “I tripped. What you did—whatwedid—it was incredible. I’d like to continue with the weekend as planned.”
He huffs a laugh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Juliet.”
My skin begins to tingle, and I grind my teeth together as I try to keep my voice calm and level. “You can’t be serious. You heard the doctor. I can’t run, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do other things.”
He inhales sharply and turns to the window.Stupid, brooding man.
“Do you know where the name Ravage originated from, Parker?”
His question catches me completely off guard. “No.”
I see his shoulders straighten as he continues gazing out of the window, facing away from me. “It’s a French term. Originated in the 1600s. It means to desolate by violence. To commit havoc or devastation. To spoil, to plunder. Toconsume.”
His low murmur sends shivers down my spine. “Okay. And?”
He turns around, his eyes still wild and dark. “Isn’t it obvious? I ruin things. It’s literally my namesake. We all do. It’s like the name haunts us.”
Everything clicks into place slowly. “You mean you and your brothers, right?”
He nods, thumbing his chin. “Yes. My family ruins things. And you…” His throat bobs as his eyes scan the bandage that the doctor placed over my gash. “You’re like a rose that got tangled in a bed of thorns.”
