"I need you."

Sevrin Shade spoke weakly, reaching for your arm as though afraid you might let go. The mission had been a success, but it was a grueling one—proven by even the best assassin suffering injuries.

A deep, jagged wound marred his arm, the result of a stab. Though not the worst wound he'd endured, it was enough to exhaust him.

He lay on the surgery seat, his shirt pushed up to his chest, exposing more scratches. Despite it being time for the doctor to tend to his injuries, his gaze stayed fixed on you, soft, needy, and weak.