Bruises on his knuckles

Aleksander Makalov stood in the doorway, a dark figure with nothing more than the hallway light illuminating the outline of his impressive, tall frame. I heard the deep steadying breaths he took and watched his shoulders rise and fall. All I could do was to stand at the foot of the bed, watching him while frozen. "Rhea", His deep husky voice caressed my senses and made my heart restart with a hard jump. "Ty prostish' mine to, chto ya' sdelal?", "What is it , Aleksander?", I lastly asked when I heard him speak Russian. "Where have you been?, What has happened?",  I finally took a step in his direction. He stepped into the room and flicked on the light on the dresser. The dim light lit up his face and i gasped when I checked him out. Dark circles were stressing his brown eyes and he looked positively haggard. Roughy but still fuming with each quick breath he took. Aleksander's dominating presence consumed the bedroom as he took another step towards me. The closer he got, the warmer I got