It had been so long since I had a proper night's sleep. When I woke, my mind felt clearer than it had in many days, my eyes were no longer heavy with exhaustion. Just then, the events of the past day came rushing back. From Marcus, to the hospital, the drive, then Uncle Alan.
I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out my phone, squinting at the screen.
It was past midnight.
I had slept through dinner, nearly the entire night.
A soft sound drew my attention downward. Pippa was laying beside her bed on a makeshift mattress, the same one I had always used whenever I'd stay over. Her breathing slow and even.
I felt a small pang of guilt and almost nudged her awake to tell her to move back to her bed, when she suddenly snorted in her sleep, kicking her duvet halfway off her leg and turning to the other side.
I froze.
A moment later, she started snoring.
Right. Not happening, then.
Pippa have always been a heavy sleeper.
Carefully, I slid out of bed, making sure the mattress didn't creak. I shrugged off my coat and draped it over the back of her desk chair.
I was still in my scrubs. I hadn't even had the chance to change, what with everything going on so fast. My hair must've been a mess, so I began braiding it over one shoulder, stepping out into the hallway—
And stopped.
Marcus stood by the fireplace, shirtless.
One hand hovering over the dancing flames, his palm turned toward the heat as if he was testing it. The firelight painting his skin into warm amber tones, shadows tracing the lines of his shoulders and the strong curve of his back.
He looked like a fallen angel.
For a moment, I simply stood there, watching him. The quiet of the flat wrapped around us, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire in the living room.
It was as if he sensed me.
His muscles tightening slightly before he turned.
"You are awake," he said softly.
His voice was low, almost relieved.
"So are you," I said, stepping closer. My eyes drifted to the bandages wrapped around his ribs. The white cloth now stained with patches of red.
"I could not bring myself to slumber," he admitted quietly. "This is...a strange place to find rest."
"That's understandable," I murmured. "But at the very least, let me change those bandages."
I turned toward the kitchen, crossing the small space to the cabinets. I could feel his eyes following me as I searched through the drawers until I found the first-aid kit Uncle Alan kept.
"You certainly know your way around this place, Elena," Marcus said.
I glanced back at him briefly. "I've been here enough times."
When I returned, he was still standing by the fire, the glow casting warm shadows along the lines of his chest and shoulders. He looked every inch the warrior he was born to be.
His breath caught slightly when I stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
I nodded toward the sofa. "You should sit," I said gently. "Let me take care of those."
Marcus obeyed without protest, lowering himself carefully onto the sofa. I set the first-aid kit beside him and knelt in front of him, right between his legs.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Up close, the bandages looked worse than I thought.
"You're bleeding through your bandages," I said quietly.
"I have endured worse."
"I'm sure you have," I replied, already reaching for the edge of the cloth. "But infection would be a far more annoying enemy to deal with."
Marcus watched me carefully as I began unwrapping the bandage from his ribs.
"I must clean the wound," I explained, perhaps more formally than necessary. My tone slipping into the one I used with my patients. "If bacteria enters the cut, it can cause infection. Fever. Swelling. Sometimes worse."
My fingers brushed his skin as the last of the cloth came loose.
His breath stilled.
I tried very hard not to notice the hardness growing between his legs.
"In my time," he said slowly, clearing his throat before continuing, "we often used wine to cleanse wounds."
"That actually isn't the worse idea," I admitted, reaching for the antiseptic wipes. "Alcohol can kill some bacteria. But we've developed better methods since then."
I dabbed the wound carefully.
Marcus flinched.
"Sorry," I murmured. "This will sting."
"I have faced blades and arrows," he said, though his jaw tightened slightly. "Yet this small cloth burns like fire."
I almost smiled.
"That's because this is disinfectant," I said. "Which is exactly why you won't die from something stupid like infection."
I worked slowly, focusing on the task. Cleaning the cut. Applying ointment. Wrapping fresh gauze around his ribs.
Anything to keep my mind from drifting. From noticing how warm his skin felt beneath my hands. How close we were.
Marcus had gone very still.
"You care for others like this every day?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," I replied.
I packed the supplies back into the box, gathered the bloodied wrappings and walked toward the bin to throw them away.
"Elena," he said, his voice sounded closer, much closer.
I nearly dropped everything when I turned and found him standing right in front of me.
Marcus stepped forward before I could move away, bracing one hand lightly against the counter beside me. I felt the edge of the cabinet pressing against my lower back as he closed the space between us.
Not touching. But close enough that the heat of him reached me.
"Even men?" he asked, his voice low.
My throat suddenly felt dry.
"Even so," I managed, trying to sound composed, professional. As if this was perfectly normal. "This is my trade. Much like conquering lands was yours."
Marcus didn't move. He only watched me. Not with confusion, not even with the quiet curiosity I had grown used to seeing in his eyes since he woke up.
This was something else. Something warmer, searching.
The firelight behind him caught in the dark strands of his hair, tracing shadows along the sharp line of his jaw.
And suddenly, I became painfully aware of how close we were standing. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek. That if either of us leaned forward, just a little—
My jaw tightened.
And the worse part was, Marcus didn't look like he was planning to move away.
I dared myself to look up.
The moment I did, my breath caught.
Marcus was looking at me as if he had just discovered something extraordinary. Something fragile and entirely new. There was a quiet wonder in his expression, softened by the flickering firelight.
His hand lifted slowly, not touching. Just hovering near my face, his fingers lingering close to my cheek, down to my jaw as if he feared the moment he crossed that space, something might shatter.
"May I touch you?" he murmured low, like he was holding himself back with great effort.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe, like I was being caught under a spell.
I should have stepped away. Said something sensible. Done anything to put distance between us.
Instead, I stayed exactly where I was, finding myself giving the smallest nod.
Something in Marcus's expression shifted the instant he saw it. The restraint I had seen in his eyes only seconds before seemed to snap.
His fingers settled against my jaw, warm and steady, guiding my face upward until I had no choice but truly meet his gaze.
My lips parted.
For a brief second, it felt as though the world had narrowed to the small space between us.
Then he kissed me.
I gasped softly against him, the sound quickly lost as his lips met mine with a fierce, aching hunger, both desperate and certain. His arm curled around my waist, pulling me impossibly close, as if we were the only two souls in the world.
The room tilted, my back pressing firmly against the cabinet, a delicious tension building between us.
Marcus lifted me like I weighed nothing, setting me against the edge of the counter. His hands found their way to my thighs, parting them before stepping between them like my body already belonged to him. His presence igniting a fire deep within me.
The heat of him was everywhere, especially with his hard length pressing against my core, grinding on my entrance with a need that eclipsed anything I had ever known.
My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, craving every inch of him.
For someone who claimed this world was strange to him, Marcus seemed to understand this perfectly.
And just as the thought crossed my mind—
Something clattered onto the floor behind us, the sharp noise shattering the silence.