Peter could scowl all he wanted. There was no part of Phaedra's 'lecture' that said he wasn't allowed to feel the way he did.
She simply wanted him to focus.
I'm fine.
She was glad they were glossing over the fact that she'd partially read his mind.
The bruises were pronounced. That she could smell them made them seem somehow worse, but none of this looked good. And it didn't sound good, either. The muffled noise he made, the look on Peter's face.
She gave him a look that clearly said perhaps he should go pull somebody else's leg. The bruises went up the length of his torso, where each rib was. Phaedra moved her right hand to the top of Peter's ribs, near the collar bone. She didn't touch the bruises there, but could feel that his skin was hot under her hand, trying to heal this mess.
Phaedra just shook her head. Her hand came to rest on the right side of his chest. "Three times?" Her eyebrow raised. "Four?"
There was no accusation in her voice. There was and undercurrent of knowledge, that she knew it was going to get worse. There was even sympathy. He had to control this. Or undo it. Or Peter was going to have a terrible time here. In the situation in general. Even worse than Phaedra.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd fed. She had to think about it.