Page 90 of The Vampire Curse

I walk back to the bed and sit on the end, my legs dangling off, and face the bathing room.

I think back to the night I returned. Even then, I knew it was a stupid thing to do. I'd almost died then, and I was almost killed again tonight. I still don’t regret my decision.

Alaric returns with bandages and several small glass containers, each holding a different colored liquid. He kneels, setting the items in a line along the bedside table.

I take in his mussed hair, how concentration wrinkles his brow. I understand now it wasn’t anger that brought me back, but the need to right a wrong—and because some things are worth risking your life for, even if they seem reckless and stupid.

He removes my shoes and runs his fingers up my leg, checking one and then the other. His movements are methodical and efficient. Next, he moves to my arms and examines them in much the same way. He meticulously searches for wounds, no matter how small, dabbing ointment on minor scratches.

I reach out and run my hand through his hair, brushing the silken strands back and watching as they slide through my fingers. I think my heart knew he was a friend long before my mind accepted that truth.

“Alaric?” I say.But damn him—he continues with his inspection until his hand reaches my right side, where Victor kicked me. I hiss and his eyes dart to my face.

I grab his hands. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I know.” He pulls his hand from mine and reaches up to my left shoulder. With a swift jerk, he rips the material of my dress. The scraps hang loose. His frown deepens.

“I don’t know how to fix this situation. I never should have left you alone,” he says.

“This is not your fault.”

Alaric doesn’t respond. He uncorks a bottle with a bright, pale blue liquid and dampens the edge of a cloth. He presses it against the first cut on my shoulder. I close my eyes, trying not to react to the sting.Demon shit, that hurts.

“You don’t have to fix anything on your own… this concerns me just as much as it does you.” I pause, swallowing against another onslaught of stinging as he continues to clean the three, long gashes. “Don’t shut me out.”

His movements falter at that. I had said those same four words just before he gave me the second mark.

“You have no idea of the danger you’re in.”

He scowls at the bite on my neck, covering the one he had placed there. He applies the blue liquid, then a green salve over each open wound before wrapping them. The bandage on my neck loops under my opposite arm to avoid choking me. It’s hardly comfortable, but at least the bleeding has stopped.

“Then tell me, Alaric.” I place my hand over his, holding it to my chest, right over my heart. It hurts, but I need him to open up.

His eyes don’t move from our hands. “If they find out you killed Rosalie, then you will be killed.”

I wait for more, but he doesn’t continue.

“I know,” I say. “We’ve both known this from the beginning.”

He sighs and pushes to his feet. “It’s getting late. You’ve lost a lot of blood and need your rest. First thing in the morning, we begin preparations to leave in a week.” He reaches down to a larger bundle of cloth and hands it to me. “Change into this.”

I carefully unfold it, trying not to move too quickly and aggravate my injuries. I set it down then stand, trying to undo the ties of my dress at the back. The wraps are too tight, and my shoulder is in too much pain.

Alaric steps up behind me until I can feel his warmth at my back. His fingers take over, unlacing the dress and letting the ruined garment fall to the floor. One hand snakes over my bruised ribs like a breath of cool air, and I melt under his touch. Then he snatches up the bundle and slips it over my head.

I smile, looking down at it.

It’s horribly indecent to wear his shirts as often as I do, especially here, when I have my own generous wardrobe. But the gesture has come to mean so much more than it would appear. When I wear one of his shirts, I know I’m safe.

I adjust the material and when I turn around, he is sitting in a plush leather chair next to the fire with a book in hand. I crawl into his bed and settle under the blankets. I watch him for a long time. His eyes roam over the words on one page before moving to the next. He turns each page with care to avoid creasing the paper.

“Are you planning to stay there all night?” I ask.

He doesn’t look up from his book. “You should be asleep.”

“What about you… don’t you need to sleep?” I ask.

“Do you wish me to?”