The sound of her laughter grated against my nerves.
She was taking her time, too, punctuating the noise with these sharp, breathless little giggles that made my skin prickle.
Alina was sprawled across the sofa, looking like a disaster. One hand was pressed to her stomach as she laughed, completely unbothered by the state of her own face.
Purple bruises bloomed violently across her cheekbones. White medical tape cut harsh lines against her skin.
It was a sight that shouldn't have been beautiful, yet it did nothing to dim that unbearable radiance.
It was like looking at a priceless masterpiece that had been dragged through the dirt, the bruising only made the green of her eyes burn brighter.
Why the hell did she seem no different, even with those injuries? Where was the vulnerability I'd braced myself for?
Her hair was tied into a bun, a brown silk robe knotted at her waist, doing little to conceal the white wraps around her chest as she leaned against the armrest.
