He clenched his jaw tight before roughly turning her face away, recoiling from her touch like it scalded him. With a sharp step back, he retrieved a handkerchief and began scrubbing the hand that had made contact with her skin.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, voice low and glacial, fury dripping from every syllable. “There was something on your face.”

Half of that venom wasn’t even for her it was for himself.

“Oh, right. Must’ve been the filthy blood,” she muttered with ...