Chapter 26
Wolfe
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I stomped forward and lifted her into my arms, cradling her to my chest, her wet clothes icy against my skin.
“What are you doing?” She protested but didn’t squirm or try to get out of my arms.
“Taking you to get dry and warm before you make the long trek back to the castle. You might be brave and strong, but you’re also turning blue.”
Blue tinted her fingertips, but what concerned me was the way it stretched farther down her fingers, the way it also colored her lips. I’d never seen it beyond her fingertips, so it had to be serious.
“I can take care of myself,” she said.
“I know that. But it doesn’t mean you can’t let others take care of you too.” I hesitated. “Just because your parents and the princess coddled you, it doesn’t make you weak. What made you weak was how you saw yourself. That’s it.”
She snapped her mouth shut as we approached a stone pit where a roaring fire crackled.
Niamh froze in my arms.
“Shit,” I said. I’d been so preoccupied with getting her warm, I’d somehow forgotten her fear. “I’m sorry. Let me put it out—”
“Don’t,” she said, voice tight, then squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe,” she chanted.
My eyebrows shot up. She was doing it. She was trying to work through her trauma. I’d never seen anything so brave in my entire life, or anyone so willing to do things out of their comfort zone. I stared down at her in awe as she took deep breaths, saying the same words over and over.
“I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.”
“Can I set you down by the fire?” I asked quietly, slowly.
Her breath hitched, but she nodded, eyes still closed. “It’s the smoke,” she said. “That smell hits me, and I’m flooded with emotion, with panic. My chest gets tight.”
“For me, it’s a pounding,” I said. “In my ears. Sometimes it helps to remind myself that it’s not Lor dying all over again.
And right now, this smoke isn’t signaling danger.
” I set her down in front of a log, and she leaned against it, inhaling shaky breaths.
“It means you’re warm, that you won’t get sick. ”
She slowly opened her eyes as I moved to sit on the log. “Don’t go too far—” She reached up for me, then bit her lip. “I think I need a friend right now. Someone to ground me.”
I nodded. “Let me get my shirt first.”
Her gaze fell to my chest, then snapped up to my eyes. “Yes, good idea.”
I went inside to get one of my thicker wool tunics and reemerged with a blanket for Niamh, whose eyes were squeezed shut as she sat motionless, still leaning against the log.
I moved in right next to her and threw the blanket over her shoulders before I made to put some space between us.
She reached out and clutched my hand, her grip so tight it shot straight to my bones.
I took a deep breath and moved right next to her.
I knew enough about trauma to know that sometimes touch could help a person through a triggering moment.
“This is hard,” she said with a shaky breath. “My heart is pounding, but I’m not spiraling, so that’s good.”
“You’re doing great. And the color is returning to your cheeks, so you must be warming up. See? The fire is helping you right now.”
She opened her eyes with a laugh, staring at me so intently that I had to look away. “I can’t look at the fire,” she said, her gaze burning into my chest. She reached out a finger and traced my skin, and I shivered.
“What are you doing?” I asked, voice coming out raspier than I’d intended.
“This is where your key is,” she said, voice full of wonder. “I’ve been noticing everyone’s keys, and I could never find yours. I’d been wondering where you were hiding it, and tonight, I finally figured it out.”
Well, fuck. Godwitches, I wanted her to keep doing that. I grabbed her wrist and held it back.
“Yes, I gather you saw that at the . . .” I couldn’t even finish the damn sentence.
“The pond,” she said for me wistfully, as if it was some fun memory we were sharing.
“I think I can sit here while I warm up.” She paused. “Maybe you can tell me a story?”
“I’m not good at stories.”
“Well, it’s your dumb fault I’m in this situation, so you’re going to have to think of one. Maybe a story about your childhood?”
Dammit, she was right. I’d brought her to the fire to warm her up, my mind so frazzled at seeing her naked earlier that I hadn’t been thinking straight.
“You did have a childhood, right?” She wrinkled her nose. “Because right now I’m picturing a boy with a full beard and a perpetual scowl on his face.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I had a childhood. Now shut up so I can tell you about it.”
She smirked, and I was just glad that some of her spark was back, that this hadn’t caused her to have a full-blown panic attack.
If it meant I could get her to keep smiling, I’d talk all damn night. “I was five years old when Lor was born,” I said slowly. “For four years, it had just been Mother and me, and then Jerome came along, and then Lor.”
“What happened to your father?” Niamh asked, her gaze still on me, sparking with interest.
I lifted one shoulder. “He was never interested in being a father. Not to me anyway. He left before I was even born. It had always been his plan to leave Fairwitch, and the pregnancy was a surprise. He didn’t want to be saddled with a son, stuck here for the rest of his life.”
“I’m sorry.”
I thought about Jerome. I’d hated him when he first barged into Fairwitch Isle, and I’d hated him even more as he dated my mother, but even at four years old, I could see how happy he made her, how happy he made me, always reading me stories and bringing me little wooden figurines for the battles I would stage on our cottage floor.
“Jerome made up for it,” I said, guilt stabbing me as I thought about how I’d repaid him by getting his oldest son killed.
“And so did my brothers. My mother was worried I’d be upset about a new baby coming into the family, but I was just excited to have someone to play with so I didn’t have to be the offense and the defense in my pretend battles. ”
Niamh laughed.
“Jerome told me I could present the baby with a gift if I wanted, and he asked what I’d want to give to my brother. I knew. I immediately knew. A sword.”
Niamh’s mouth twisted, and it made my lips twitch. “A sword? For a baby?”
“That was Jerome’s reaction.” I could still remember the horror on his face. “But I was persuasive for a five-year-old. I told him I was going to teach my brother to be a great warrior, that he’d be brave and strong and safe. Always safe.”
Niamh’s gaze softened at that last part, and she put her hand on my knee, sending a jolt through me.
The flames were dying, the wind picking up, and Niamh scooted closer, shivering under her blanket, her eyes fluttering.
“So what happened next?” she asked, voice sleepy and heavy.
“Jerome took me to the blacksmith. He helped make the perfect sword for my brother. Lor wouldn’t be able to use it for years, but as soon as he could stand, we were practicing with wooden swords, sticks, whatever we could get our hands on.
Lor strategized with me, trained. Wherever I went, he followed. He was my best friend.”
“You sound like an amazing brother.” Her eyelids fluttered.
“I was,” I said.
“You still are,” she said, eyes closed, head nodding off and leaning against my shoulder. “You just need some reminders. You need to tell more stories like this and remember how much he loved you and you loved him.”
Her soft breathing filled the air, and I looked down, realizing she had fallen asleep.
“Niamh,” I said quietly. “It’s time to get you back to the castle.”
She didn’t stir, and I sighed. Surely she’d wake up soon.
This couldn’t be comfortable, but I couldn’t bear to wake her.
She looked so peaceful, so beautiful with stark red hair and her pale, freckled skin.
I’d wait. I’d let her wake up on her own, and then I’d walk her back to the castle so she could sleep in her own bed, and this was yet another instance that I’d pretend never happened.