A long, heavy silence follows before I feel a gentle hand on my waist. I flinch at the contact, but then he scoops me up into his arms. The heat of his bare chest penetrates my skin, and it has the strangest effect on me. I want to hate myself for being so emotionally bankrupt that I could possibly derive any comfort from this man, but that’s exactly what it feels like. His warmth surrounds me, and I can’t help noticing the masculine scent of his sweat combined with the leather from his boots and perhaps even a hint of his cologne. It’s spicy and warm, and I find it odd that I don’t hate it. I should hate it.

I have to believe this is just a side effect of my fragile state of mind. Anyone else in my situation would do the same. Comfort is scarce in my world, and for once, I find that I need it. Even if it comes from the brute who made me show my vulnerability in the first place.

He carries me to the bed, laying me on my stomach before he pauses to stroke the hair gathered on my face. It feels almost like a silent apology, and I tell myself I should recoil from his touch, but again, I don’t.

“Don’t move,” he orders, voice rough. “I’ll get something to help with the pain.”

“I don’t need anything for the pain,” I whisper. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He ignores my protest and disappears into the bathroom, and for a second, I consider trying to bolt for the door. Maybe I could make it if I wasn’t so exhausted. I tell myself I could, but the truth is, I know he’ll catch me. He’ll always catch me. Judge is a hunter, and somehow, I’ve become his prey.

When he returns with a tube of cream, I try to turn over, but his palm comes to rest on the center of my back.

“No more fighting.” His voice betrays a hint of softness I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him before. “Not right now.”

“I can do it myself,” I croak.

“But you won’t,” he answers. “It’s my job to take care of you.”