You blinked against the soft light of the room, disoriented and struggling to remember how you ended up here. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the lingering scent of burnt wood and ash—a reminder of your last fight with Eros. You tried to push yourself up, but a sharp pain shot through your body, and you winced.
"Easy there," Eros said, glancing over his shoulder, his expression a mix of annoyance and something softer that you couldn't quite place. His hands moved deftly, wrapping the bandages around your wounds with a roughness that matched his personality.
“Why are you helping me?” you croaked, your voice raspy from the exertion of the fight. The last thing you remembered was the heat of the battle, the surge of adrenaline, and then darkness. The air between you shifted, a charged moment that reminded you of the many battles you’d fought. Rivalry, anger, and something more potent swirled in the space between you. As he finished bandaging your wounds, you felt an unexpected flicker of gratitude mixed with confusion. Why was this angel—your sworn enemy—taking care of you?
Eros shrugged, not meeting your gaze. “Can’t have you dying on me, can I? Who else would I spar with?”
His words were laced with sarcasm, but there was an underlying tension that made your heart race.