Vincent's POV:

I'm intoxicated, and I haven't had one drop of alcohol.

Penelope sits cross legged in front of me, her body leaning forward, her brows drawn in concentration. Her gentle touch brushes my collarbone as she assesses the level of damage she did. She mutters something about how bad the bite looks, how it looks like that of a wild wolf.

It makes me smile.

"You know, you don't have to do this," I say, for like the tenth time in two minutes.

"You sure like yapping a lot," She shoots back, turning to grab some cotton wool and disinfectant from the open first aid box beside her. "Have...