She jumps up to a ledge above the door and fishes a key from there. “Yes! It’s still here!”
Doesn’t seem that safe to me to keep keys there. Then again, this is just the kind of thing I’d expect from the likes of Blom.
“My mother’s idea,” Aurora muses. “In case I’d ever need a safe space.”
“Hmm … She could see into the future?” I say as Aurora opens the door.
“No, but she definitely knew what my father’s job was. And from what I got told by our staff … she wanted to protect me from it, even before I was born.” The last bit of her sentence comes out in a sigh as though she’s still mourning her mother’s loss.
I used to be like that too before the streets hardened me. Before I was snatched and shown that emotions only get you killed.
The door closes behind me, and I look around. Aurora checks out some of the furniture like she’s physically touching up on memories.
Right next to me is a door that leads into what appears to be the only bathroom. The kitchen and living room are open to each other, and in the back is an open door with a smaller room with a queen-sized bed.
“It’s not amazing, but …”
“It’s perfect.”
CHAPTER12
Aurora
I turnto look at him. “You think so?”
He nods. “It’s more than I ever had.”
I begin to blush, and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear to try to hide it, but obviously, it fails because his eyes are definitely flicking back and forth across my face. “Oh, I never thought about it like that. I’m sorry, it was inconsiderate of me. I—”
He plants a finger on my lips, silencing me. “Stop apologizing. You’ve done more than enough of that.”
I blush and avert my eyes, but then I notice the bleeding wound on his stomach. Shit, I completely forgot about that.
“Right, we have to find some supplies.” I run to the bathroom and search the cabinets until I find a box.
“What supplies?” he asks from the living room.
I return with the box and open it up, pulling out some alcohol, a cotton pad, some sterile gauze, and tape. I place it on the kitchen counter and sit down on one of the stools, then pat my hand on the other. “Sit.”
He ogles me for a moment like he’s questioning my intentions.
“C’mon, let me help you,” I say.
He sighs and then begins to walk toward me, each step like a stomp on the floor. And the sound still manages to make me gulp.
He’s just so … huge.
Even when he sits on the stool in front of me, his muscles still look like they’re about to bulge out of those flimsy linen pants.
My cheeks begin to flush again, but I push the raunchy thoughts away and focus on the task at hand. His wound looks gnarly and in need of a cleaning.
“Can you bend sideways? Just a little bit,” I ask.
He does what I ask without complaining, but when I place a cotton pad with alcohol on his side, he hisses.
“Sorry, I know it stings,” I say. “But it seems like it’s only a graze. I don’t see a bullet.”
“I’ve felt worse,” he says, laughing, then wincing.