Marked By the Pureblood Alpha (Deanna and Luis) novel Chapter 380

Chapter 380 Tender

Deanna’s POV:

The next morning.

Erik Harding came in early with a few specialist doctors.

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He stood by my bed, flipping through last night’s test reports, and reminded me, “Dede, you’re recovering well, but your legs will feel stiff and not very flexible. Don’t walk much for now. Once circulation fully returns, the swelling and stiffness will ease.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

I knew Erik was doing everything for me because of Luis.

After the doctors left, I stayed in bed all day.

From lying flat, to half–lying, to reclining–every move still tied to this mattress.

After a full day and night, my back and waist ached everywhere.

Luis lounged on the sofa nearby, one long leg crossed over the other, tablet in hand, head down, handling company work.

Every so often, he’d glance up at me.

Whenever I tried to sneak a foot to the floor, I could feel a sharp g.

on me.

I gave a guilty grin, pretended nothing happened, and set my legs back on the bed to keep lying there.

Aside from that first frantic night when I woke, he had gone back to being calm–face unreadable, eyes almost emotionless.

Sometimes, our gazes met.

His eyes were still deep, like moonlight in a black sky–dark, yet bright.

Whenever I found myself falling in, he’d look away first.

Other than that, everything else was normal.

Every meal, Luis fed me himself.

When I needed the bathroom, he’d put the tablet down, get up, come to the bed, and carry

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Chapter 380 Tender

me to the restroom.

If I didn’t shoo him out, he’d probably stand there and watch the whole process.

He was meticulous and impossibly gentle; the only wrong note was that stony face.

I faintly felt he was actually angry.

At noon, a servant knocked and pushed in a nutrition tray.

Luis set his tablet aside on the table, stood, and came to the bedside.

The servant wheeled the cart over, then slipped out.

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Luis sat at the edge of the bed, his clean–boned and lifting a ceramic soup crock filled with chicken and herbs.

Inside was a light chicken broth, with a whisper–thin sheen of gold floating on top.

He took up the spoon and, with practiced ease, skimmed the oil away.

Then, he scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and held it to my lips.

I opened my mouth obediently and sipped.

Sweet, silky, fresh–clearly simmered a long time.

He refilled the spoon, cooled it, and fed me.

I looked up at him and found no expression on his face–like in hi act of feeding me.

I parted my lips and drank again.

ere was only the

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