Chapter 25 #3
“Okay.” I nod hesitantly.
“Okay,” she repeats, just as Quinn comes back and hands her the jar. She sets it on a low table next to the cot. “Turn on your side.” She stands from her position on the floor beside the cot. I do as she says, Quinn beside me in an instant to offer a hand as I struggle to shift my weight.
“I’m going to stretch the leg—try to navigate it back into place.
It may not feel pleasant, but should provide relief once it’s aligned,” she explains.
I nod again, taking a deep breath as she runs her soft hands up the length of my leg and hooks her fingers under the crease of my knee.
She does just as she said and works my leg, guiding me through a series of motions and movements that are somehow distinctly soothing to the dull ache that’s been deep inside my hip since last night.
At last, she pulls my leg towards the edge of the cot, draping it over the edge and pressing her weight down delicately on the top side of my hip. I try to muffle the whimper that creeps up my throat, the pressure on the bruises making my eyes water.
“You’re hurting her,” Quinn says. It’s not a shout, but it’s not exactly kind either.
“No,” I breathe out, shaking my head as I close my eyes. “It’s working, I can feel it slipping back into place.” And with one final nudge from Laurel, I let out a sigh of relief. She lets me go, standing and dusting her hands as if she’s just finished potting a plant.
“Better?” she asks.
I turn over onto my back, marveling in the sudden relief.
I hadn’t noticed just how bad it had been hurting.
But now that the ache is nearly dissipated, I’m reveling in the bliss-filled feeling.
“Yes, much,” I say on an exhale, practically laughing in amazement.
Tamiel has never been able to do that. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done with you yet,” she says, swiping the jar off the table and gesturing down to my dress that’s fallen back in place.
I gather it up once more, exposing the bruises to her again.
She scoops out a glob of a sticky, dark cream that smells overwhelmingly minty.
“This will help with the bruising, and hopefully alleviate any lingering pain you may have.” She lifts her fingers up for me to see before slathering the curve of my hip and ass with the balm.
Quinn looms behind her as she bends over me. He has one arm wrapped around his abdomen, the other holding his chin as he strokes his stubbled jawline.
“Can you please tell him it’s not that serious?” I ask Laurel, huffing out a breath of frustration that’s elongated as Laurel hits a particularly sore spot.
She smiles, lips pursed thinly. “It’s not that serious, Quinn.” But I hear the pause in her words, and I know there’s more coming. “But you do need to be careful, Evangeline. Your body appears to be more prone to injury—more delicate than it should be—for someone of your kind.”
I don’t need to ask what she means. The Watchers are meant to be fierce warriors.
While that kind of action is no longer taken within Requiesse, there was once a time when the Watchers ruled with an iron fist. One of the reasons the gods supposedly left us behind to tend to the mortals of this world, because we’re nearly indestructible. Or, we’re supposed to be.
I sit up when Laurel finishes massaging the balm into my hip, fixing my dress to cover the exposed skin.
I can’t tell them I know why I’m so fragile—that this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.
But judging by the way Laurel’s eyes seem to bore through me, I’m starting to wonder if she already knows.
“Here,” she says at last, offering me the jar.
“Take this with you. Keep applying until the bruises fade, if the pain persists. And if not, you can use it in the future.” She puts the jar in my hand, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “In case something like this happens again.” When she pulls away, she winks at me and I can’t help the amusement that spills into my features.
“I don’t have anything to pay you with.” My voice is quiet, ashamed at the continuous kindness she’s offered me, at no expense.
“No need." She waves away my words. “Club designated healer, remember?”
“Yeah, but . . .” I hesitate, cradling the jar in my hands. “I’m hardly part of the Blood Order.”
She hums, helping me to my feet and guiding me to the veiled doorway.
Quinn goes through first, holding the curtain for me and Laurel.
She stays in the doorway as we move forward, propping her hand on her hip as she leans against it to hold the curtain in place.
“Maybe not yet,” she answers at last, before letting the curtain fall as she disappears into the back room a moment later.
But I can hear the whisperings of the words she’s left unsaid. They skitter through the air and tickle the back of my neck as Quinn slips his mask back into place and turns me towards the busy rows of the Market Ebon—willing us to disappear into the mass of excited energy.
But you will be.