Chapter 36 #2
“You’re actually good at this.” He tilted his head as I worked. “Are you sure you’re not a healer?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Shame. I was going to start demanding you patch me up after every battle.”
I pressed my hand into his wound just to hear him curse again.
“Sadistic little thing,” he muttered.
“Whiny little fae,” I shot back.
Lincatheron let out a breath, shaking his head. “Fenric’s going to lose his mind when he sees this.”
“Will he?” I tied off the makeshift bandage, testing the knots.
Lincatheron flexed his shoulder experimentally, testing the range of motion. He winced only slightly when he pushed too far.
“Yeah,” he said, the word carrying a note of resignation mixed with something warmer. “He does that.”
I raised a brow, unable to resist the opening he’d just handed me. “How strange of him to care about the man he loves. How absolutely terrible your life must be, having someone worry when you come home bloody and half-dead.”
The words dripped with enough sarcasm to drown a small village.
Lincatheron’s jaw dropped for a split second before snapping shut, a flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with blood loss. “Fuck off,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in it.
“There we go,” I said, grinning wickedly. “Much more honest than all that stoic commander nonsense.”
“Gods, you’re a nightmare.”
“And you’re bleeding on my nice clean bandages.” I pinched his uninjured arm. Hard.
The sound he made was a thing of beauty. A full-on, betrayed, utterly undignified yelp that I would keep in my memory forever. His eyes went wide, as if I’d just committed the gravest breach of military protocol imaginable.
“Did you just—” He stared at me in outraged disbelief. “I’m wounded!”
“You deserved it.”
He grumbled under his breath about sadistic humans and power complexes.
I was already tugging him to his feet, enjoying the way he had to scramble to keep his balance. “Now come on, we’re getting you home before you pass out and I have to explain to Fenric why I let his boyfriend bleed to death in a field.”
Lincatheron opened his mouth—probably to argue about his ability to remain conscious—but I was already hauling him toward Kaelen with zero patience for masculine pride.
Though I was careful not to jostle his wounded shoulder more than necessary.
The man was stubborn enough to collapse out of spite if I pushed too hard.
“Front or back?” I asked when we reached Kaelen’s side, though I already knew what his answer would be.
Lincatheron paused, clearly weighing his options. I could see the internal struggle playing out across his features, wounded pride versus practical concerns about staying conscious during flight.
“Front,” he said finally, and I heard the effort it took him to keep his voice steady.
Smart choice. It would let him maintain some semblance of control, some dignity in this thoroughly undignified situation. And more importantly, it meant I could keep an eye on him if he started swaying.
“Good call,” I said, already positioning myself to give him a boost up into the front of the saddle. “Means you can pretend you’re still in charge.”
“I am in charge,” he muttered, but he didn’t resist when I steadied him as he hauled himself into position with his good arm.
The movement cost him, his face went a shade paler, jaw clenched against what had to be considerable pain. But he managed it with something approaching grace, settling into the familiar leather with practiced ease.
I swung up behind him, careful not to crowd him but close enough to catch him if he started to slide sideways.
The warmth of his back pressed against my chest, and I could feel the slight tremor running through his frame.
Whether from pain, blood loss, or sheer stubborn determination to stay upright, I couldn’t tell.
“Comfortable?” I asked, checking that the safety straps were properly secured.
“Perfect,” Lincatheron replied through gritted teeth, his hands finding position on the saddle’s front grips.
“Liar.” But I kept my voice light as Kaelen prepared for take-off. “Just don’t bleed all over the saddle. Kaelen takes pride in his tack.”
His shoulders shook with laughter. “I make no promises.”
“Wonderful. Kaelen, take us home. And try not to rattle our wounded warrior too badly.”
“I’ll do my best,” Kaelen rumbled in my mind. “Though I make no promises about his pride surviving the journey intact.”
The ground fell away beneath us in a dizzying rush of green and brown, the wind immediately whipping through my hair with enough force to make my eyes water.
But even as we climbed higher, banking toward home, I could feel Lincatheron’s restlessness radiating through the air like heat from a forge. He kept shifting, subtle movements at first, then more pronounced ones as his warrior’s instincts clashed with his body’s limitations.
A slight turn to scan the horizon. A flex of his shoulders that made him suck in a sharp breath. Another shift as he tried to get a better view of something below.
Each movement sent a tremor of pain through him that I could feel echoed in the tension of his frame, the hitches in his breathing.
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, as he craned his neck to peer over Kaelen’s wing. “Sit still, Linc.”
Lincatheron froze. Actually froze, going so rigid in the saddle that for a moment I wondered if he’d passed out entirely.
Then he twisted to face me, the movement sending another visible wave of pain across his features that he tried and failed to hide.
His brows lifted, mouth parting slightly as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. “What...” His voice came out rougher than usual, threaded with something I couldn’t quite identify. “What did you just say?”
I blinked at him, confused by the intensity of his reaction. “I said sit still, Linc.”
He pointed at me, eyes narrowing in exaggerated betrayal. “You did it again.”
I frowned. “What? It’s your name.”
“No, that—” He waved vaguely, as if the word had personally offended him. “That is a nickname.”
I winced. I hadn’t even thought about it. The name had slipped out. But from the way Lincatheron was looking at me, you’d think I’d rewritten the laws of the universe.
“Uh…” Heat crept up my neck. “I—shit. I didn’t mean to. I—”
“No,” he cut in.
I blinked, mouth open mid-apology.
Lincatheron sucked in a breath through his teeth, his eyes darting away for a second as if he needed to gather the nerve to say whatever was sitting on his tongue.
“I like it.”
My words stalled.
He glanced at me, the smallest shrug rolling through his shoulders. “It caught me off guard. That’s all. No one’s ever called me that before.”
“Oh,” I breathed out. The heat in my face doubled. “I mean, I can stop. If you want me to, I will. I wasn’t trying to—”
“I said,” he interrupted again, quieter now, steadier, “no one has before.” Something soft settled in his expression. “But you can.”
I bit my lip, watching for any hint of discomfort. “Are you sure?”
A warm, boyish grin split his face, and gods, it made him look so much younger.
“Definitely.”
I laughed then, quick and startled, but real. “Okay. Good luck getting me to stop.”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face in exaggerated despair. “I’ve just made a mistake, haven’t I?”
“Absolutely.” I grinned, sitting back with a smug little hum. “Monumental, really. You’ll never live this down.”
Linc shook his head, still smiling. “I can already hear Fenric’s voice in my nightmares.”
“Is that so?” I raised a brow, teasing.
“Yes. If he hears you call me that.” He glared at me, faux-serious. “I’ll never know peace again.”
“Oh, we’re definitely telling Fenric,” I said, unable to suppress the wicked glee in my voice. “In fact, I think I’ll make it a point to use your new nickname exclusively in his presence.”
“You’re evil,” Linc muttered, but his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. “Pure evil.”
“I prefer ‘strategically vindictive,’” I corrected primly. “It sounds more sophisticated.”
“That’s not better.”
“Wait. What does your boyfriend call you?” I raised a brow. “Something romantic?”
Linc’s entire body went rigid. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on.” I leaned forward slightly, close enough that my whisper would carry over the wind. “What is it? Darling? Sweetheart?”
“I will throw myself off this dragon before I ever tell you that,” he said through gritted teeth, though I caught the way his ears had gone pink at the tips.
“You’re wounded, remember? You’d never survive the fall.” I was practically purring with amusement now. “Besides, Kaelen would just catch you and put you right back up here with me. Wouldn’t you, Kaelen?”
Lincatheron muttered what sounded distinctly like a prayer for divine intervention.
“Without hesitation,” Kaelen rumbled in response. “I’m rather invested in this conversation now.”
“Is it something embarrassingly sweet?” I pressed. “Something that makes you blush every time he says it? Oh gods, does he call you honey? Baby? My fierce little warrior?”
“I’m going to murder you both,” Linc said, but his voice cracked slightly on the words. “Slowly. Painfully. With great satisfaction.”
“You’re deflecting,” I pointed out. “Which means it’s definitely something mortifying. This is even better than I hoped.”
He twisted in the saddle again to glare at me properly, wincing as the movement pulled at his bandages. “You are a menace. An absolute plague upon my existence.”
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” I shot back with a grin.
“You know what?” he said, settling back in the saddle with a rueful shake of his head. “You’re absolutely right. Gods help me, but I actually enjoy having someone around who’s not afraid to give me shit.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” I said cheerfully. “I have an endless supply of shit to give.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Just what my life was missing. A friend with no sense of self-preservation and a complete disregard for military hierarchy.”