“You should’ve waited for me,” he said, voice low but tight. His hands were covered in blood—your blood.

“I didn’t need you,” you said, trying to sit up. Pain bloomed across your ribs.

His eyes darkened. “Clearly you did.”

“Don’t start,” you snapped. “I’ve hunted alone a hundred times.”

“And this time you almost got torn apart.”

“You’re not my babysitter.”

“I’m your husband.”

That stopped you.

He turned away, pacing once across the clearing. “I know you’re strong. But it still kills me to see you like this.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“I know,” he said, softer now. He crouched down beside you again. “But next time—just let me come with you. Please.”