3. Stella
3
STELLA
C oming to a stop outside my tiny cottage, I slide from the wolfman’s back.
My modest home has a simple thatch roof and plain stone walls. A small herb garden is nestled along one side, while the back leads directly into The Woods . It’s quiet this far away from Moon’s Hollow. The sound of rustling leaves and hooting owls breaks the late-night silence. The large moon is our only light source, casting everything in hazy blue light.
I turn to look at my companion. His golden eyes are guarded, casting me wary glances as he scents the air. Looking behind his shoulder, his pointed ears twitch before lowering. I wait to hear raised voices coming from the village, indicating that Timson and his men saw us, but all remains quiet. After a moment, his eyes return to mine expectantly.
Reaching into my bag, I produce my iron house key and quickly unlock the front door. The old metal hinges squeak open. The front part of my home is a basic kitchen with a circular table and two chairs resting against the wall. Off to the right is my sitting area, where a small loveseat sits next to a side table. A few dogeared books are strewn across the cushions. My wooden bookshelf is nearly buckling from the heavy tomes stacked on each shelf. Behind a curtain is my bedroom, which has a bed and a small wardrobe.
It’s far more modest than the castle I grew up in, but it’s mine. This was the first place I ever felt truly free and safe. Even as I hear the wolfman slide over the threshold and the door slam shut behind him, I still feel secure. While the danger he presents is obvious, I don’t fear him.
Turning towards him, I gesture towards the small table with the matching wooden chairs.
“Have a seat there while I go and fetch my supplies.”
Golden eyes narrow in on me, but he remains silent. His massive body settles atop the chair. It groans under his weight. Somehow he manages to suck all the air from the room and make my cottage feel ten times smaller. My eyes dip to the matted dark hair of his chest and the oily sheen of blood on his fur. Hanging my bag from a peg at the door, I open the cupboards in my kitchen to collect what I need.
The first place I found refuge after leaving my parents’ home was with an old healer. She taught me basic herbology and medicinal purposes for easy-to-grow plants. I’ve been honing this skill these last few years. I’m not an experienced healer, but I know enough to be useful. If I can get the bullets out, I should be able to clean his wounds enough for them to begin healing.
Plucking a box of matches from the drawer, I light the large pillar candle on my table to illuminate the space. I lay out a stack of clean cloth and a few herbs to slow the bleeding. Taking my small metal tongs, I dunk them into cleaning alcohol and turn towards the wolfman.
“Where did they shoot you?” I ask.
For a moment, I believe he won’t answer me. His human eyes swirl with a dozen questions. His lips twitch as if fighting not to snarl. Flaring his nostrils, he shakes himself before raising a large hand. He touches two spots on his chest where his fur is the most matted, then drops his hand lower along his hip. Crimson stains the simple cloth covering his legs to just below the knees.
I nod, swallowing once and then slowly approaching with my tongs extended. He is just like anyone else—any other man—only a bit more hairy. Still, I have a job to do despite my racing heart. The scent of pine invades my lungs as I lean down. My hand tangles in the warm fur of his chest. It’s softer than silk, and I wonder how it would feel along my body.
My face warms at the thought, and I remind myself again to focus.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn.
With a steady hand, I locate the first bullet wound. The wolfman barely whimpers as my tongs lock around the silver and tug it free. The wound steams—his body rejecting the metal. Luckily, it wasn’t too deep of a wound. I drop the metal into a glass. My fingers are stained with blood as I gently part the hair over the other wound.
Locking my tongs around the piece of metal, I’m so focused that I barely register his soft voice.
“Why?”
I glance up at him and nearly melt from the intensity of his stare. The deep sound of his voice dances along my skin and sinks into my bones. It’s a pleasant sound, even if it is edged in pain.
Licking my lips, my eyes lower back to his wound.
“Why what?” I ask.
“Why help me?”
With a gentle tug, I remove the second bullet and drop it into the glass. Blood pours from the wound and onto my fingers. With the two on his chest removed, I douse a cloth in antiseptic and press it into the openings. He gives a muffled groan as I apply pressure.
Looking up, I meet his eyes once more.
“I can’t watch someone suffer when I have the means to help.” I remove the red stained cloth and apply a fresh one. “Someone showed me kindness when I needed it the most. This is my way of repaying it.”
Directing him to hold the cloth, I lower beside him and untangle the mass of dark fur at his hip. Blood makes my fingers slippery as I part the sodden strands. Finally, my fingers brush the hole. A few inches higher, and it would’ve struck his hip bone. This wound is deeper, and he squirms as I push my tongs into the opening.
“Have you always been like this?” I ask, trying to distract him and out of curiosity. It’s less tense when he’s speaking to me, and I want to know more about him.
His whole body tightens, and I feel his eyes upon me like a touch.
“A monster, you mean?” he snarls. “I know the stories you humans tell of my kind. Animals slain for our pelts, our heads mounted as trophies.”
I swallow as bile races up my throat.
“I’ve never much cared for animal pelts,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Not when silk is so much nicer.”
My tongs lock around the final bullet and tug. A growl leaves his lips before breaking off in a whimper. I gently rock and tug the piece of metal before pulling it free. Fresh blood spills from the opening and soaks the cloth of his shorts. Setting my tongs down, I grab a fresh cloth and drench it with more antiseptic. Reaching towards his wound, his hand encircles my wrist, stopping me.
“There are more of my kind out there,” he says. “We are born—not made. My father was a wolfman. My mother was a human.”
I nod. His palm on my skin makes my blood heat. After a moment, he releases me, and I press the cloth to his wound. A low hiss leaves him.
“Do you all live nearby? Is that how the hunters found you?”
“No,” he rasps. “I was traveling alone.”
I nod and quickly change the cloth to a fresh one.
“What about you?” he asks.
I shrug, a familiar ache forming in my chest.
“No family,” I say simply.
“Do you have a mate?”
I lower my brows. “Like a husband? No.”
His golden eyes seem to darken, and I feel heat climb up my cheeks. This wolfman has no problem being direct. Perhaps he was worried about a spouse coming home and finding his wife tending to a creature from The Woods , but he does not need to worry about that.
“Timson—one of the hunters who found you—has made me several marriage offers.” I don’t know why I’m sharing this with him, perhaps because I know he and I hold the same disdain for that repulsive man. “But I would rather take my chances with?—”
“A wild beast?” he supplies.
I’m blushing in earnest now as I nod.
“Well, now that you aren’t growling at me, you don’t seem so bad.”
His lips twitch, and I don’t think it’s a snarl he’s trying to suppress this time.
“You don’t know anything about me.” His ears lower. “What is your name, human?”
“Stella,” I say softly. “And yours.”
“Ciaryn.”
I nod, rising to my feet. “It’s nice to meet you, Ciaryn.”
Together, we work silently to bind the wounds on his chest and hip. It takes most of my clean cloth to wrap around his massive frame. Once I am satisfied with the dressing, I apply the same antiseptic solution to his leg where the trap had broken through the skin. Once it is bound, I return to the kitchen table and begin making a concoction to treat any lingering infection.
I extend a glass of dark liquid towards him. With a sniff, he rears back.
“This will stop any of your wounds from festering. Drink it.”
Reluctantly, he takes it from my hands. He sips it before shaking his head.
“All of it,” I command.
With a deep sigh, he drinks down the whole elixir before grimacing. I take the glass from his hand and glance out the window. The night is still, and a few fireflies dance along the overgrown grass of my front lawn.
“You should spend the night here. They’re likely prowling the town and forest for you, and you're in no condition to travel. The dose I gave you was potent, and you’ll be feeling tired.” I gesture towards my small bedroom. “You take the bed; it should be able to fit you.”
Ciaryn shakes his head.
“The floor is fine.”
“Nonsense,” I say, waving a dismissive hand. “You need to rest for your wounds to heal. In the morning, I’ll change your bandages.”
Brushing past him to turn down the bed, his hand snags my wrist again. This close, we are eye to eye. The warmth of his body soaks into me. Pine seeps through the overwhelming scent of blood. His touch is gentle.
“Thank you,” he says. “Your kindness won’t be forgotten, Stella.”
A fresh blush dances across my cheeks as I nod. Ciaryn’s eyes droop, and I help him from the chair towards the bed. Once we reach it, he falls backward onto the covers. The wooden frame creaks but holds firm. It’s not long before his eyes fall shut, and his breathing turns deep and even.
With a sigh, I turn back towards the kitchen and wash the blood from my hands. My dress is stained, and I don’t have the energy to do much more than unlace it and discard it with my boots. Dressed only in my cotton shift, I find an old blanket draped along the arm of the couch and settle onto the worn cushions.
It’s not too uncomfortable. My neck will be stiff in the morning, but it’s only for one night. I should feel uneasy at the creature occupying my bed, but I feel entirely safe. It’s an odd realization but not an unpleasant one.
With exhaustion weighing me down, I let the darkness pull me into a deep, dreamless sleep.