Off Limits
He stood perfectly still, his chest rising and falling in that same rapid, uncalculated rhythm that always betrayed his internal system failure.
I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of his collarbone, right where the dark, cured violet pigment clung to the tactical fabric of his shirt. I looked at the bruise-like stain, then up into his piercing, ice-blue eyes.
"You’re bleeding," I said, my voice quiet, noticing the slight, fresh crimson bead beginning to form where his knuckles had split again under the pressure of his tight grip.
Peter looked down at his hand, then back to me, his gaze softening into a look that was almost painfully vulnerable. "It is a minor tactical error. It will