“Because I know what it feels like to be treated as an asset,” I said.

“Tristan did that to me for years.”

“I am not Tristan,” Arthur said.

“I know,” I whispered.

“Tristan would have run and left me behind.”

Arthur’s gaze softened slightly, his eyes dropping to my lips before returning to my eyes.

The air between us felt heavy, thick with a sudden, quiet heat.

My heart began to beat faster, not from the fear of the chase, but from his proximity.

I reached for a large adhesive bandage and carefully placed it over the clean wound.

My palms rested flat against his collarbone as I smoothed the edges down.

His skin was warm beneath my hands.

He placed his left hand over mine, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.

His grip was gentle, a stark contrast to his usual dominance.

“Kate,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“We are in the middle of a war.”

“I know,” I said, looking at his hand on my wrist.

“But you are not alone in it anymore.”