Angel's POV
Every part of me wanted to go to him.
That was the first thing - the overwhelming, completely involuntary pull of it, the bond doing what the bond did, responding to his presence the way a compass responded to north. He was here. He was on the floor and he was bleeding and he was here and every piece of me wanted to cross the room and…
I was not wearing anything.
The reality of this arrived a half-second after the impulse, and I moved - very fast, graceless, the urgent scramble of someone for whom dignity had become entirely secondary to the immediate problem. My gown was on the floor near the bed. I grabbed it. My hands were shaking and the laces were somewhere and I gave up on the laces and simply held it closed and turned…
His eyes were already on me.
The expression in them…
