They did not deserve my pain.
The shirt came over my head and landed on the floor with a wet, awful sound.
I looked down at it.
At the blood.
At the tear near the sleeve.
At a brownish smear that might have been mud or ash or Kyan or Ermes or one of the thousand pieces of horror my day had become.
My stomach rolled, and I suppressed a gag.
Liam moved into my line of sight.
Offering something else to look at.
His chest.
His throat.
The mark at his neck.
The mouth I had kissed before the world tried to eat us.
I focused on that.
His hands went to the way-too-big shorts I had put on before coming into the packhouse.
Same pause.
Same question.
I nodded again.
He undressed me like I was something breakable and holy, almost made of glass, which was rude because I did not feel l
