The hero's blood-soaked hands trembled.
Alistair's breath came out shallow, ragged—golden eyes fixed on the twitching corpse at his feet.
A longtime comrade decorated the ground like a broken doll, eyes glassy, limbs twisted.
My arms smoothly slipped around his torso, his heart thundering under my palms. My cheek rested against his back.
"He would've killed me. You did well," I murmured.
His shaky fingers wrapped around my wrists. Then—
He ripped me off like I was poison. I stumbled back. He whirled around to face me.
"What's wrong?" I asked sweetly.
He paused. Then, a jagged cackle tore through the air. He shook his head, eyes blazing.
"What's wrong?" he echoed hoarsely, voice nearly breaking.
"Do you regret saving me?" My lips curved in a taunting smile.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat. His fingers gingerly brushed my chin before yanking me forward. I grunted, gaze whipping up to his face—a tangled mess of pain and fury.
"Maybe I do," he rasped, thumb gently grazing my lips.
I smiled mirthlessly, hand snapping to his collar. I tugged him closer until his breath warmed my skin.
"You don't," I whispered coldly, "Be honest…you'd never let me go."
His jaw clenched, eyes sharpening into golden blades.
"You're the worst thing to ever happen to me," he breathed, voice trembling with rage.
"That's funny," I murmured, fingers trailing his cheek. "You're the best thing to ever—"
He jerked my chin up.
And his lips crashed against mine.