Captain MacLean's scolding still clung to me like smoke.
Reckless. Stupid. Solo.
And then the order, sharp and final:
"Go treat your wounds."
So I did.
Back in my dorm room, the silence felt heavier than the pain. Astraea's bed was untouched. No trace of her. No note. No nothing.
My knee was bleeding badly, the cut ugly and deep, staining the cotton red as I pressed it down with trembling fingers.
I hissed under my breath.
And then…
I felt it.
That shift in the air.
That quiet wrongness.
I didn't have to look up.
Kael was there.
Leaning against the wall like he belonged in my room more than I did.
I swallowed hard. "If you came to annoy me with that paranoid, manipulative hobby of yours… I'm not in the mood."
He didn't answer.
He only stepped forward.
Slow.
Like time obeyed him.
Before I could pull away, he dropped to one knee in front of me, taking the cotton from my hand as if it was already his.
My breath caught.
"Hey…" I tried, but my voice came out weak.
He started cleaning the wound.
Careful.
Almost gentle.
It should've been comforting.
It wasn't.
Because his touch didn't feel like help.
It felt like possession.
I watched him, frozen, while he worked in silence, his focus so calm it made my skin prickle.
Then he did something I didn't expect.
He dipped his fingertip into the blood.
And brought it to his mouth.
Licked it.
Slow.
Deliberate.
My stomach turned.
His eyes lifted to mine, and the look on his face was wrong.
Not disgusted.
Not curious.
Enjoying.
Like he'd just tasted something he'd been craving.
My throat tightened.
"What is wrong with you?" I whispered.
His lips curved faintly.
"You bleed beautifully," he murmured, voice low.
I didn't even get to respond.
The door slammed open.
Hard.
"BABY!"