He tossed the still-smoking object onto the floor and it landed with a soft clink, the obsidian rose staring up at her like a malevolent eye.
His hand, now free, went to the back of her neck, holding her steady. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, a stark contrast to the violence of the moment before. His thumb brushed against the burn, a soft, almost tender touch, and she flinched at the contact, a fresh wave of pain washing over her.
"Get her the medic." His voice was a low growl, a command that sent the servants scattering. "Now."
She was dimly aware of the chaos erupting around her. The shouts, the running footsteps, the sounds of plates and glasses being knocked over. But it was all distant, muffled, as if she were underwater.
Her focus was on him.
His face was inches from hers, his red eyes boring into hers, searching, probing. The mask of indifference was gone, replaced by something else. Something cold and hard, like ice.
