Anastasia

Jacob is so focused on the tiny graze left cheek. Ive been staring at him for what feels like hours. If he's noticed, he says nothing. He just busies himself with some wound ointment and a band-aid, which I don't need. In a few hours, I will be fully healed.

But I can't really bring myself to stop him.

Iusually fight a lot more because.

Ashamedly, I like the pain. And his fussing only helps my body heal quicker. But right now, he's standing between my parted knees, eyes dark and focused as he gently presses the band-aid onto my cheek.

It's the closest I'm allowed to get to him.

Selfishly, immorally. And I'll take it whatever interaction I can get whenever I can. "Where else did the glass cut you?" he asks, stepping back to scan the rest of my body. "Uhm," I stall, glancing around. I don't really want him to find the ones in my arms, but there's no point in hiding it. He's going to smell the blood, anyway.

With a sigh, I let him tug the sleeves of my shirt up to expose the deeper gashes along my arms. "Fuck," he breathes, reaching back into the first aid kit for more gauze.

It's a little funny to watch him fuss like this.

Things had obviously changed when we grew older and he and Gisele spent more time together as fated mates than all three of us did as friends. And I understood. At least, I tried to understand.

As a result, I rarely get to see him this way nowadays. He's always off at Alpha training or spending his free time with Gisele.

I don't get to see him the way I used to. "Does that hurt?" he asks, pulling me out of my miserable thoughts. Truthfully, I hadn't even noticed anything. But now that he called attention to it, I could feel the subtle sting of rubbing alcohol on raw skin. "No, not really" I sigh sleepily. The entire day finally catching up to me and draining me of what little energy I had left. It feels kinda nice." "It's not supposed to feel nice," he reprimands, bandaging my forearm. "Pain sucks."

"Maybe you're just a pussy" I tease, leaning back into my free hand.

He doesn't take the bait the way I want him to, and I notice the way his eyes keep lingering on my body. "Maybe you're just a little masochist," he shoots back, and there it is again: his eyes drag over the curve of my hips before moving back to my arm.

Before I can make sense of it, he sets my arm down and motions for me to hold out the other. With a wince, I switch arms and drop my hand into his. "Masochist is a strong word," I muse, watching his face closely. I prefer being admired for my unusually high tolerance for pain."

Is that something you really want to be admired for?" he asks with a chuckle.

I shrug and he growls at me to keep still.

There are fewer wounds on this arm, just a few shallow nicks and cuts. It's my thigh

I'm worried about. "There's nothing else anyone can admire me for," I say before realizing how pathetically self-deprecating it sounds. "I mean, I'm not exactly Miss Congeniality."

"This pack is a little below your standard, isn't it?" he teases back, and it feels good to fall into something more familiar.

We would always bicker and banter with one another when we were younger, and I missed his witty comebacks for everything

I said. T'm pretty sure you could do better."

I don't know," I sigh dramatically. Tve heard that the heir apparent is supposed to be cool." "The Alpha-to-be?" he says, feigning disinterest. "I heard he's a douchebag."

I laugh a little and shove him away. "He's okay."

His laughter joins mine for a moment, and when our eyes meet, something shifts. His gaze travels down to my lips and I feel ny breath catch in my throat, his tongue poking out to wet his ips before he catches himself. "Ah, haha, thanks," he says awkwardly, rubbing his palms on his thighs. He pauses. "Why do I still smell blood?"

My shoulders droop and I point at the shard of glass sticking out of my thigh. His face pales.

Fuck, has that been in there this whole time?" he says, without being able to hide the shock of not seeing the glass earlier. "No, Jacob, I found it while you were bandaging my arms and played Russian

Roulette with my femoral artery," I say with a deadpan voice, earning a tongue click of disapproval from him. "Fucking hell, Ana," he says, brows furrowed as he inspects the torn denim and the shard sticking out of my leg. "Are you a fan of these jeans?"

Iguess, I mean they were on sale but, hey!" I exclaim over the sound of ripping denim.

He'd used a claw to shred through the fabric, exposing my outer thigh so he could get a closer look. "Sorry" he mumbles, not sounding sorry at all as he leans down to see how much damage the shard has done. "You've already started healing. So, this is really going to hurt."

I don't mind," I say, watching him slip on a rubber glove to get a good grip. He looks at me again for confirmation, and I nod.

It's quick, and it hurts, but it feels good.

Like that first gulp of fresh air after being underwater for too long. "You good?" he checks in, dropping the shard of glass into a wad of toilet paper.

Fine," I assure him. I told you: high pain tolerance." "Uh huh, sure," he says dismissively,

Wrapping one hand around my ankle and draping my leg across his lap.

I hope he doesn't hear my sharp intake of breath, or the way my heart kicks into high gear at his slightest touch. It doesn't help when his fingertips graze my skin like he's trying to memorize every movement, mapping it out. "You don't have to worry about it," I try to say again, hoping to distract myself from the growing heat in the room.

The last thing I need is for him to smell any kind of arousal and end up complicating an already complicated situation. "If it was already healing around the glass, then itll heal in no time," I continue to say.

"Ifit was already healing around the glass, then itl heal in no time," I continue to say. "It was only healing because of the auma," he explains, his tongue peeking out in concentration. "Without the chunk of glass in here, itll take a little longer than what you might be used to."

I could live with that. Maybe Id even get a

Scar out of it. "You're not going to MacGyver stitch me up, right?" I mock, wanting to lift the heaviness between us quickly.

But his fingers are gentle on my thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they trace the angry red skin around the wound.

I am trying so hard not to twitch or do anything else that might give me away.

I desperately need to squeeze my thighs shut. There's an all-too familiar burn in my lower stomach and if he doesn't leave soon,

I am going to scre am. "Relax, little miss princess," he drawls, moving the rest of the torn denim away from my thigh. "Tm just going to clean it and bandage it up. I know you probably want to shower, so hopefully the ointment and bandages will speed up the healing before you get wet."

Shut up. I want to tell him to shut up.

Nothing he says or does right now makes any of this easier for me, and I am so close to physicaly kicking him out. "That should do it," he says quietly, his thumbs smoothing over the edge of the bandage where cloth meets my skin for just a few seconds too long. "At least try not to get the wounds wet for the next hour or so, okay?"

I can only nod, my focus drawn entirely to the warmth of his palm against the bare skin of my thigh. He seems to realize he's been touching me for far too long to be considered acceptable between friends, because he quickly clears his throat and jumps to his feet. "Then I'm gonna head back to the party," he says, coughing through the awkward tightness in his voice. "Give me a call or something if you need anything"

I only nod in response, not sure how else to respond. "Thank you," I remember to say just as his hand curls around the door knob. "Uh, for helping me. Again." "Don't sweat it," he says with a serene smile.

The smile that always sends winged creatures soaring in my stomach. He lifts his hand in farewell and disappears out the door without another word.

I blow out a long breath, trying to release all the tension coiled in my muscles after being wound up for hours on end. I'm going to need a shower way sooner than

Jacob would prefer. But it is technically his fault that I'm currently battling my base urges over something as simple and innocent as him cleaning a few of my wounds.

I get up off the bed and remove the rest of my clothes, tossing my ruined jeans into the trash can as I passed by.

A cold shower is exactly what I need to get my mind off of Jacob and try to ease the hard knots in my shoulders and back. I get in and quickly wash myself, the bandages quickly soaking up water and slipping off my body. The wounds are already healing, much to my immense disappointment. But

I'm so tired and frustrated that I don't have the energy to care.

When I finally get out, I go through the motions of getting ready for bed.

The irritating niggle in the pit of my stomach is so persistent. Finally, I relent, falling onto my bed and slipping my hand under the waistband of my shorts. I'm aching for some kind of relief, a release I can't get from anywhere else.

Just as the tips of my fingers graze the sensitive skin above my clit, my phone jolts me back to reality. I snatch my hand back like Ive been burned.

Fuck, it's Gisele.

Shame floods my entire body as I answer. "Hey" I say in shame, hoping she doesn't hear the self-loathing in my voice. "Hey sweetie, are you okay?" she asks, sounding worried. It's quiet, so I'm guessing she's left the party. It only makes me feel worse. "Jacob texted me. I'm so sorry."

Tm okay" I quickly assure her. I sit up like

I can somehow physically get away from the burning shame that wants to eat me alive. Just a few scratches. Im practically already healed up. But you know how

Jacob is when people get hurt around him."

She laughs, sounding genuine and happy. "He's like a nervous first-time mom, always fussing and scolding us."

I laugh as well, but it sounds forced even to my own ears. "Yeah, he's ridiculous."

Tm just glad you're okay," she says, andI can hear the frowm in her voice.

Please don't let my clumsiness ruin your night," I whine, hating myself with every passing second. "Go have fun with Jacob and everyone else. You only get to turn eighteen once."

It would be more fun if you were here," she pouts. "But okay, Il call you first thing tomorrow?" "Sure," I agree, eager to bury myself in pity. "Tl see you tomorrow, birthday girl."

Love you, friend!" she says before she hangs up.

Love you," I respond, trying to sound like

Imean it. And I do, but I feel dirty and shameful for almost getting off to the idea of my best friend's fated mate.

I feel so guilty.