Page 22 of Crown Of Blood

In the living room, Isabella sits on the edge of the couch, head tilted back against the cushion, eyes closed.

Her hair's fallen from its bun, dark strands framing her face. The bruise at her temple stands out stark against her skin.

I should be thinking about what to do with her.

Where to move her? Who to question first?

Instead, all I can think about is how small her wrist felt in my hand—and how wrong it felt to let it go.

She opens her eyes when she hears me. "Your daughter's sweet," she says softly.

"She is."

"She shouldn't see this," she adds, gesturing around the room, the blood still on her skin.

"She's seen worse," I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes flash. "That's not something to be proud of."

I drag a hand through my hair and sink into the armchair across from her, elbows on my knees. "You should be more careful with your words, Bella."

"I should be a lot of things," she says, "but quiet isn't one of them."

The sound of her calling me out like that should irritate me. It doesn't. It steadies me somehow, forces me to look at her—not thejournalist, not the liability—but the woman bleeding in my home, still daring me to see her as untouchable.

Her hand trembles where it rests on her lap. She tries to hide it.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

She scoffs. "What, the kidnapping or the hand?"

I arch a brow. "Both."

"Take a guess."

I stand. She watches me warily as I cross to the bar and pull the first aid kit from the cabinet. I kneel in front of her before she can protest.

"You don't have to—"

"Stop talking," I mutter, opening the kit.

Her breath hitches when I take her hand again, careful this time, cleaning the cut. The bruise looks angrier in the light.

She studies me like she's trying to solve a puzzle. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're bleeding in my living room."

"That's not the answer I was looking for."

"It's the only one I have right now."

I wrap her hand, the bandage neat and firm. When I glance up, she's already staring at me—too close, too much.

"I'm not your enemy," she says quietly. "I don't want to destroy you."

"Then stop digging where you don't belong."

She shakes her head. "You're scared of the truth."