Despite herself, Elena almost smiled.
Almost.
The expression vanished before it fully formed. "I can handle it."
"I'm starting to notice that's your favorite sentence."
Elena's fingers tightened slightly around her injured hand because somehow that remark landed closer than she wanted.
Alaric stood and extended his hand toward her. "Come on."
She stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the hand. As though the concept itself was suspicious. "I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own."
"I never said you weren't."
"Then why are you offering your hand?"
Alaric let out a long suffering sigh. "Because if you get blood on the carpet, my grandmother will probably haunt me."
"I didn't know she was dead."
"She's not."
"Then that's you being dramatic."
"Good. At least one of us is capable of recognizing humor."
Elena actually looked mildly offended and that seemed healthier than the distant expression she'd been wearing earlier.
