Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Luciano straightened his shoulders and fixed him with a withering stare. The arrow cluttered on the floor after he dropped it, and he clutched his wounded shoulder. Crimson droplets seared through his fingers. Without a word, the mortal ripped a piece of his shirt to use it as a makeshift bandage to wrap around his injury. His touch was surprisingly gentle.
He watched him in silence and once he had secured the makeshift dressing, their gazes locked with an unspoken tension lingering between them. Did he care for him? Luciano searched his features, but his expression remained carefully guarded to give nothing away. He paused, his fingers stilling on the fabric.
Then the mortal dismissively turned around to look around the chamber again, a light he was unaccustomed to dancing in his greys.
"How are we making it back to the real world once we get your artefact by the way?"
