(Author's POV)
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, Yona?" Dion thundered in fury, swiftly pulling Myra into his arms. Yona flinched, an instinctive tskkk escaping her mouth.
"Dion, it's not what you~ …." Myra tried to say something, but he interrupted. He took her blood-stained hand in one hand and cupped her face with the other, asking, his voice dripping with immense concern, "Myra~ …. does your hand hurt? Let me treat you." He lifted her hand to take a good look when Myra said, "I am not the one who is hurt; Yona is. It's not my blood but hers, Dion."
Hearing her words, Dion loosened his grip on her hand a little and started to check. There really was no laceration, not even a scratch. Then his eyes darted towards Yona's wrist. It was stained red, but the wound was healing little by little, thanks to her werewolf abilities.
"I~ … I am sorry~ … I thought you were hurt. So, I got anxious. But I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Dion said, embarrassed.
