Chapter 10 Zinnia
Zinnia
“Let me check on that wound, sweet girl,” Ida demanded as soon as the cabin door shut behind us.
The boys were right outside, working on the list of chores I’d given them.
Julian had gone to gather more firewood right after Ida had torn invisible strips out of him.
I didn’t have the best hearing for a shifter, since my wolf had faded, but I was pretty sure she’d intended for me to hear her dressing him down for his behavior toward the boys and me as I escorted them to my home.
“It’s fine,” I protested as she swatted my hands away and pulled me down on the bed.
She tutted and cleaned the wound again, using a tincture I’d made of dried yarrow a few weeks before. “The cabin looks good,” she commented, nodding at the quilts on the walls. “Smells a bit like—”
“I know. It’s spring cleaning time.”
She murmured about the best ways to clean quilts, and I was glad for the distraction. When I’d first moved into the abandoned hunting cabin, there had been nothing but the pine log bed, table, and chair, gifts from the Mountain pack.
Over the years, I’d decorated the interior with hand-sewn quilts and braided rugs to make it cozy and inviting, though the only visitors I’d had were the kind that came with feathers, fur, or scales.
As Ida worked on my wound, I gazed at the dried wildflowers and drying herbs that hung in bundles alongside my pots and pans near the cooking stove, and tried to think of what else needed doing before the late spring rains came in earnest. The river that wound along the bottom of the valley below my home would swell with floodwaters, and I needed to gather the young wild onions and garlic that grew there before then.
Does Julian like garlic?
I shoved the thought away. There would be mushrooms ready to harvest on the fallen trees, to add to the harvest from my garden.
Does he like mushrooms?
Damnit, I was the fool. An old fool with no wolf, no sense, and three worn-out dresses that made me look like a grandmother on laundry day.
Ida finished before I could figure out how to kick myself in the ass for caring what Julian thought or did.
“This wound may be fine—though it’s not quite as healed as I’d like to see.
But the deeper wound is what worries me.
” We both went quiet, until she sighed. “I didn’t know it was him when I brought him here, the reason you showed up bleeding at our borders all those years ago.
If I’d known, Zinnia—if you’d told anyone…
” Her expression held real hurt, and I knew I had to explain.
“Told you that my true mate met me, that we touched, and he threatened to kill me?” She gasped, and I took a calming breath.
She sat down slowly, listening intently as I told her the old, painful story.
I tried to make it fair, to include the parts I’d only just discovered, about why Julian hadn’t known me.
She’d earned the truth, though, and the tale was ugly.
She was one of the only shifters who knew just how close to death I’d been after his rejection.
“My heart is breaking for you both,” she said at last. “He never knew you, and you both suffered for so long.” Her hands were on my head, and I realized at some point I’d curled up, my head on her lap, my cheeks wet with tears.
“So much time lost. But, Zinnia… this may be your chance to make it right. If you can forgive him?” I nodded once.
“Then why is he out there, and you in here? Why didn’t you claim him last night? ”
I didn’t answer, and for once, Ida went quiet, waiting me out. “He didn’t claim me either.” I wasn’t proud of how it sounded, like I was sulking. Like my pride had been hurt, not just my heart. “He didn’t even ask.”
She stood and opened a window, letting a small breeze in.
“I’m afraid he may have a little too much of the martyr in him.
He fled his dishonorable pack, then spent the next twenty-five years trying to make up for their actions, their crimes.
But I think he’s been paying the price for letting you go.
That’s why he’s here, after all. One last journey before the end. ”
I heard a distant shout of, “Ida, keep out of it,” from outside, and realized Julian hadn’t been all that far away. At least not with an open window and shifter hearing. “Stay out of my business.” He was coming closer.
“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing she didn’t have long to explain. “What price? The end?”
Ida closed the small window again, a pained grimace marring her sweet, rounded features.
“I shouldn’t tell you, but I will. Julian’s dying.
When he arrived at the Alpha’s Den, I wasn’t sure if he’d make it through the week.
I brought him here to see if you could help patch him up with your magic, enough to give him the strength to go home once more, to see his homeland before he dies. ”
I stood abruptly, my blood cold. “Dying?” It couldn’t be true. He’d made love to me the night before so powerfully, so perfectly.
Her voice was a whisper now. “I told you he needed your help. The tattoos trapped his magic inside him. It’s eating him alive. He’s in agony, day and night. If he didn’t claim you last night, I’m fairly certain he refrained out of honor, to protect you.”
“I wish that was the truth. But I try not to lie to myself, Ida. I don’t have a wolf,” I whispered back, forcing the painful words out. “He… he didn’t want me.”
“You think he won’t mate you, won’t want you, just because your wolf is sleeping?”
I let out a long breath. “Sleeping? She’s almost gone, Ida. What if he tried to claim me, or I tried to claim him, and… nothing happened? Or worse, what if he ended up tied to me, and his wolf suffered even more? It’s for the best.”
She snorted. “That’s a load of bullshit. You’ve never balked at trying to heal a shifter, girl. Not even when they were past hope. You never give up until their last breath, no matter how much it drains you. I’ve seen it a half-dozen times.”
“This is… different,” I finished weakly. This wasn’t just any patient. It was Julian. He was more dangerous than any wounded bear, than any rogue shifter. They could only kill me.
Julian could crush me. He’d done it before.
Ida bristled, her wolf rising in her eyes, making them glow.
“You made a vow to me long ago, that you’d try to heal any shifter I brought you, if you could.
I need you to heal Julian, Zinnia. He’s my new granddaughter’s only living relative.
He’s a true friend of our pack, and the only father figure those two rascals out there have.
Heal him.” Her voice had risen now, and I matched her tone.
“Heal him. All right then. How? His wounds are old and deep, and magical—”
“So is your bond. Do what you need to, and then…” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Then kiss it better.” She made a couple of movements that suggested using my tongue and possibly my pelvis to achieve the intended result. It was ridiculous.
“Ida!” I slapped a hand over my mouth, but a hysterical giggle still slipped out.
She winked. “A true healer wouldn’t shirk at using whatever medicine was needed.”
“You want me to…” I couldn’t say it out loud; the boys were close enough to hear.
Ida’s eyebrows danced. “You may want to get rid of that dress. I’ll have my grandson Finnick order you some fancy pants from the city.
Maybe a sexy nurse outfit. I saw one in a catalog that would make a male rise from the dead.
” She finished just as Julian burst through the door, panting.
His eyes were wild, his cheeks flushed as he glared at my friend.
“Ida! What in the hell—”
Ida jumped up and smacked his forehead with one hand, like she was disciplining a naughty pup.
“Respect your elders, boy!” His jaw dropped, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to suppress another giggle.
She winked at me again. “Right, you’ll stay here with Zinnia.
She’s vowed to heal you. I’ll take the boys. ”
“No!” I shouted, panicking. I couldn’t be left out here, alone with Julian. “They need to stay.”
“Gotta make renovation!” Bo yelled from outside. “We ain’t leavin’!”
“We’re all stayin’,” Leroy agreed.
Julian blinked at me. I blinked back. The thought of being here with him, touching him, healing him, was as appealing as it was terrifying.
I’d thought I would only have him once… Maybe this was a prayer answered.
Maybe I was being given a few more moments of bliss, in exchange for my magic.
I just had to make sure to protect myself, my heart, for when he left. Because he would leave.
I would be alone again, but at least I would have memories, and my honor. I would fulfill my vow to Ida’s pack to try to heal him.
The door slammed shut, shocking both of us out of the frozen moment.
Ida had left, her grumbles fading as she moved swiftly away from the cabin, and then at last, we were left in silence.
I moved to the hearth, stoking the fire for something to do other than stare at the male who had shaped my life.
The cabin had always seemed perfectly sized before. Now, it felt like we were both trapped in a shoebox. Come on, Zinnia. You’re a healer. You know what to do. I sighed and turned to face him. “Ida says you’re in constant pain.”
He stared at the floorboards, but his hands were in fists at his sides. “Ida talks too much.”
“Is it true? Tell me.”
After a moment, he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, the one room growing even smaller as it filled with his scent, and his presence. “It’s true.”
I waited, pulling herbs from my boxes on the table and brewing two cups of tea. “Go on, then. I need to know everything.”
“The tattoos have always hurt, but I learned to ignore the pain. The skin is tight along the scars, but it wasn’t until the battle a few years back, when I was shot with silver bullets and cut with more than one silver blade, that the real pain started.
It was the kind that I’d felt when Camellia put them on.
” He rubbed his hands over the sheet. “On a bad day, anything that touches me on one of the tattoos—clothing, casual touches, even the wind—can feel like razors slicing into me. My magic… it’s pooled just under the surface, but it keeps trying to escape. ”
His clothing hurt him? I narrowed my eyes as his fingertips traced the pinker scars that dotted his shoulders, arms, and ribcage. “Those are all from silver?” He nodded. “They’re recent?” Another nod. “Take off your shirt.”
I handed him the cup of tea. He took it and did as I instructed. I moved beside him, opening a jar of salve I’d made and dabbing some on my fingers, but hesitated.
“Does it hurt when I touch you?” Had it hurt him to make love to me?
His eyes met mine and held them. “Yes and no. But if you’re asking if you can touch me, yes, Zinnia.”
I pursed my lips, wondering how I was going to make it through the next few minutes, or possibly days, trying to strengthen and heal him.
“I’ll put this on the silver scars first, before I address the tattoos.
It’ll numb them a bit, and soften the tissue,” I explained.
“I have a feeling…” I didn’t say what I thought; if it was true, this was going to be a long, bloody day.
He sipped the tea as I worked, with the scent of mugwort and rosemary from the salve, as well as the mint and borage in the tea, perfuming the air.
He was a perfect patient, holding still as I rubbed each scar, feeling for what I feared I would find.
I closed my eyes, connecting with the small well of collected power inside me, allowing it to drift over his skin, trailing like mist over the arm where my finger probed.
“Shit, that hurts,” Julian gritted out.
I fought to keep my face serene. What I was about to do would hurt even more.
I unwrapped the sharp paring knife I kept in my medical kit, laid the sterile dressing to one side, then stacked some clean muslin cloths on the table.
I put my own tea down, knowing I needed an empty stomach to do what came next.
“I’m afraid this will hurt more. If I’m right, it may not be your magic that’s hurting you. It may be—”
“Silver,” he breathed. “You think there’s silver inside me.” I nodded, and he extended his arm. “Get it out, please.”
The next hour was brutal and embarrassing, but not because of Julian’s reactions.
He showed his years of discipline as a warrior and held still for every cut I had to make, every small grain of silver I removed.
No, I was the one who wasn’t able to keep calm, tears running down my face, my nose dripping until I had to tie a cloth over my face like a mask to keep working.
I had begun my task with lower reserves than I’d had in a decade, both physically and magically, and it was all I could do to keep on and not show my exhaustion.
I was certain Julian thought my shaking hands and pallor were because of the grisly procedure and not my true weakness.
When I finished, Julian was covered with blood, and a tiny mound of silver—no more than a pea-sized pile—lay on a bloody rag beside our seats.
“Is that all?” His voice was strained as I dug past one of the silver scars toward the crook of his elbow.
I pulled out one final, infinitesimally small piece of silver, the scent of the metal fouling the air around us.
I let out a breath, then sent my magic out again, the tendril searching… and finding nothing.
“That’s all,” I whispered.
“Thank you,” he said and ran for the door. The sound of retching was the last thing I heard before I passed out again.