Chapter 17 #2
He raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. In fact, I slammed the door rather loudly for your benefit.”
I turn my face forward and sink further into the water. “Well, clearly I didn’t hear it.” I grumble.
“Clearly,” he deadpans, but I could swear without looking that he was smirking. “Whenever you’re finished, I need to treat your injury.”
“I’ll be done in a moment.” I say, looking at him over my shoulder.
He offers a simple nod before he ducks back out of the room, closing the door behind him to grant me some semblance of privacy.
I make quick work rising from the water and drying myself off with the towel he’d left for me on the counter.
Next to it, I find an oversized t-shirt—his probably—and some fresh undergarments—definitely not his.
I don’t even want to stop and think long enough to figure out how he’s come across them, but I’m grateful for the change of clothes.
I also try not to focus too long on the fact that trousers were not provided.
It’s because he needs to be able to access the wound.
I step back into the room to see a tray of food perched on the little table in the corner and Bastian crouched in front of the bed, spreading the supplies across the floor next to him.
His eyes flick to where I’m standing in the doorway, and he goes preternaturally still.
His eyes are the only thing that moves as they track from my face, down the curves of my body, past the hem of the shirt where it hits me mid-thigh, all the way down the length of my bare legs, before they jump back up and hold at the edge of the shirt.
I tug at the hem, hoping I can make it longer, so I don’t feel as exposed.
There’s a kind of intensity in his gaze that almost makes it seem like my bare skin has offended him in some way.
The longer he stares, the more my body heats under his attention.
I shift on the balls of my feet and squeeze my thighs together at the sudden pressure in my core.
“Um…” I clear my throat which seems to pull Bastian from whatever haze he was stuck in, his eyes darting to my face.
I could almost swear I see the faintest tinge of pink climbing his cheeks but before I can even begin to process the fact that he might be blushing, he turns his head back down to his things and obstructs my view.
“Come sit,” he commands softly.
I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed facing him and he lifts his face, the pink I thought I saw earlier is gone, if it was even there to begin with.
“May I?” he asks, hands hovering over my injured leg. I dip my chin in affirmation. He immediately gets to work.
His rough palm skates over my bare skin to grip my calf, elevating my leg. This position causes the hem of my shirt to rise, putting my upper thigh on display and nearly revealing more… intimate areas. That pressure flaring up again in my core making me squirm for some sort of relief.
He reaches with his free hand to clean the wound with some sort of antiseptic soaked gauze, completely ignorant to the torture he’s putting me through.
Once he’s satisfied, he applies a salve that looks almost identical to the one he used on my face after the boggart attack, but the smell is slightly different, so I have no way of knowing if this is the same one.
I suppose I could ask, but I’m too busy trying to rein in my dirty thoughts at the feel of his skin against mine.
His brows furrowed in concentration. Occasionally, an emotion sweeps over his expression but it’s so quick that if you blink, you’d miss it with how swiftly he masks it.
He nods to himself when he’s happy with the coating of salve he’s worked into the skin around the wound.
Still holding my leg, he stretches out with his other arm to grab the roll of gauze bandage.
He begins to wrap the injury, and I only hiss out a breath twice as the pressure sends a shot of pain through the limb.
He looks pained every time I let out the sound and he mutters apologies but it only makes him work faster.
The stings doing wonders for cooling the heat flooding my body at his proximity.
He gently pats my leg as he ties off the gauze, so it holds in place.
“There, that should be good until we make it back to my cottage and I can take another look at it.” He braces his hands on the edge of the bed on either side of where I’m sitting as he pulls himself to standing.
The movement brings his face and chest brushing dangerously close, causing my breath to hitch.
He looks down at me from his full height, trying to read something in my face that I can’t determine if he finds or not before he stalks over to the table and snatches a bowl and a spoon.
He brings both over to me. “Eat,” he says, thrusting them into my hands.
I laugh. “Glad to see we’re back to single syllable orders, sunshine.
” I take the proffered food and dig in. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the moment the scents of the rich meaty stew hit my nose.
He simply grunts a reply as he walks back over to the table and folds himself into the single chair at the table.
His reaction only causes me to laugh harder around bites.
I devour the food as if I’m the youngest child in a large family.
Before I know it, the bowl is spotless, wiped clean with the hunk of bread Bastian tossed at me halfway through the meal.
As soon as he notices I’m finished, he jumps to his feet to fetch the empty bowl from my hands and sets it back on the table.
“I could’ve done that, you know,” I say.
“Yes, but you should try to stay off that leg,” he answers.
I roll my eyes, but a wave of exhaustion rolls in and wipes away the sass I was gearing up to throw his way. “So, what’s the plan for sleeping here? Are we taking turns or what?” I ask.
“We both need our sleep so, no, we won’t be taking turns. You can have the bed.”
“Where will you sleep?”
He looks around the room. “The floor is fine,” he says gesturing to the empty space beside the bed.
“You can’t be serious,” I say, mouth agape.
“I’m entirely serious.” His expression indeed looking quite serious.
“How is that going to be restful?”
“I’ll get extra blankets and pillows from downstairs. I’ll be fine. I’ve slept on worse if I’m being honest.”
“But—”
“Liv, you aren’t healing as fast as me. You need more rest than I do, and the bed will give you the most comfort. I will be fine on the floor.”
I let out a sigh. “I’m getting a rather strong case of deja vu right around now.
We’ve almost certainly had this argument before.
And it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before, but whatever.
If you want to be melodramatic about it, that’s your choice.
I won’t fight you anymore, because you’re right. I do feel like shit.”
His face falls at the last sentence and he moves quickly to my side. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
“Oh my gods, calm down. I’m fine. I’m just exhausted and the last twenty-four hours are finally catching up with me.” I wave off his hands as he begins feeling across my forehead, for a fever I suspect.
He seems reluctant to release me, but he does when he doesn’t detect anything to be concerned over. Instead, he rises from the bed and ushers me under the covers before he nips out of the room to gather more blankets to make his floor pallet. I’m asleep before I ever hear him return.