Chapter Twenty-Six
T WENTY - S I X
It’s only once the others leave that I smell blood. I look over at Bishop, my mind not quite making the connection, and then I see him for the first time since he pounced on Henry, and I gasp.
“You’re injured,” I say, and then make a face. “And that’s a silly thing to say to someone who’s been in a fight.”
His shirt is torn and bloodied, every button gone. I push the sides open to see blood streaking his chest.
He catches my hands gently and murmurs. “I’m fine, but I do appreciate the show for your father, if he’s watching.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re covered in blood. Of course I’m concerned.”
His lips tweak up, even that slight movement enough to set his split lower lip bleeding. “I’m not questioning your concern. Only the fact that you seem to be undressing me.”
I roll my eyes. “To examine your injuries.” I close his shirt and pat it down, hard enough to make him wince from the cuts beneath. “Better?”
“I suppose I deserved that. Let’s get inside, and if you want to undress me then…?”
“I will. To examine your injuries. You’re too bruised and battered for anything else.”
He lifts one shoulder. “Werewolves heal quickly. And Henry and I were in human form. I have scratches from branches and stones, but no rips from claws and teeth.”
He lowers his head to my ear. “I was teasing you about undressing me. I’m relieved you’re safe, and it puts me in a strange mood.”
“The fight made you giddy.”
His brows shoot up.
“It did. I can see it in your eyes.” I slide my hand under his shirt and lay my palm on his bare stomach. That firefly-dance in his eyes sharpens to a lightning bolt of pure lust.
I look up at him. “Giddy,” I murmur.
“That’s not the word I’d use,” he says, his voice rough.
“Maybe not.” My hand slides lower, fingertips slipping along his waistband. “I would have enjoyed watching you fight, if I hadn’t been terrified that behemoth would seriously hurt you. But now that it’s over, I understand what you mean by the relief.”
I move closer, hiding my hand as I undo the top button on his trousers. “You’re right, though. Giddy isn’t the word.”
“It’s not.”
I slide my hand in—
“Bishop?” A voice says, accompanied by the footsteps of someone running down the front steps.
I wheel, hand flying from his trousers as I back up against him. His fingers grip my hips, tugging me back into him as one of the younger werewolves—Jacques, I think his name is?—stands on the front steps, gaping down at us.
“M-Miss Cordelia. I…” His gaze goes to Bishop. “She’s…”
“Out of the cage, yes. Silas knows. There was an issue.”
“Oh.” The young wolf hesitates and then blinks. “Oh! Bishop, you’re hurt.”
“Your nose and eyes are working tonight, Jacques,” Bishop says dryly. “If only your ears worked the same, you would have been out of here before now.”
Jacques flushes, but Bishop waves off his apologies. “Your bedchamber is on the other side of the house. My cousin doesn’t have any such excuse. He sleeps like the dead. Better wake him before Silas accuses him of avoiding a fight.”
“Bring him to us, please,” I say. “To check Bishop’s injuries.”
“I don’t need—” Bishop begins.
“Please,” I say to Jacques.
Bishop sighs. “Fine. Bring Julius. And then prepare a plate for Miss Cordelia. She hasn’t had lunch or dinner.”
I start to protest that food is the last thing I need, but he continues speaking to Jacques. “Also bring hot water. Fill my tub.” He squeezes me and murmurs, “And don’t say you don’t need a bath. After three days, you really do.”
I elbow him, making Jacques laugh before taking off on his errands. Then Bishop scoops me up over his arms as he heads for the door.
“What are you doing?” I say, squirming.
“Getting you indoors, so that you don’t resume what you started on the front lawn.”
“So you are shy.”
He sputters. “I meant that I don’t want to be interrupted again.”
I look up at him, my head tilted back. “So you would have let me continue on the front lawn. If you could be sure that no one would see? Or if you could be sure no one would interrupt ?”
His smile is so devilish that my cheeks heat.
He leans down and whispers, “Don’t ask what you don’t want answered.”
“I did want it answered. My blushing doesn’t imply otherwise.”
He pushes open the front door and carries me inside.
I muse. “I’ve heard that werewolves are very open about such matters.”
“They are.”
“But I’ve also heard that you’re not.”
He starts up the stairs. “I don’t participate in the more… group-oriented activities. But I wouldn’t be averse to anyone seeing my bride-to-be discreetly but obviously pleasuring me on the front lawn. To further our plan, of course.”
“Of course. The plan is very important.”
His lips twitch. “It is.”
He opens the door to the small room guarding mine and then walks through into my former bedchamber, which has been partially repaired—the carpets and bedding back in place.
Bishop drops me onto the bed and then stands there, poised above me, his gaze taking me in.
I scramble off the bed and point to it. “Sit, so I can examine your injuries.”
“I’m barely hurt.” He reaches for me, but I dance out of his reach.
“All right then,” I say. “Sit so I can have the pleasure of undressing you under the pretense of examining your injuries.”
That glitter returns to his eyes, and he perches on the edge of the bed so fast that I laugh. There’s a new washbasin by the wall, the pitcher filled with fresh water. I wet a cloth and then light a small fireball inside to warm it.
I start with Bishop’s face, and I don’t think I mistake his soft growl at that, the one that says I’m stalling. I’m not. His lip is swelling, and he’s going to have a black eye. I wash them both as I murmur healing spells. Then I’m checking his head for bumps when he catches my wrists.
“I didn’t hit my head.”
“Are you sure? Henry might have—”
“He didn’t.”
I lay the cloth aside, taking time to fold it. Then I carefully push Bishop’s open shirt off over his shoulders.
How many times have I seen his collar undone or his sleeves rolled up, that bit of bare skin reminding me of what he’d looked like without his shirt? Now I don’t need to imagine it.
There are only two injuries here—the healing wound from where I stabbed him and the scrape on his chest that I had patted earlier. Still, the rest is tender and will bruise. I cast more healing spells as I run my fingers over his muscled chest, taking care to avoid the more sensitive scars.
As I touch him, exploring, marveling, he leans back and groans softly. I kiss his shoulder—
The door slaps open.
“Go,” Bishop snaps. “ Now. ”
“It’s me,” Julius says.
Bishop opens one eye. “I know, and I’m still telling you to go. Cordelia asked for you. I said I didn’t need medical attention. She’s handling it.”
“I can see that, and I’d happily leave you both to it. However, you asked Jacques to bring her food, which is here, and he’s run off to fill your tub, which you also requested.”
“ Damn it.” Bishop straightens as I step back.
“Yes,” Julius says, far too cheerfully as he walks toward us. “Silas always warns that your kindness will get you into trouble, and he was right. You only wanted to see to Cordelia’s needs, and now it’s interfering with her seeing to yours.”
Bishop growls his cousin’s way.
I shake my head. “Julius should take a look at you. I can’t tell whether anything is broken.”
“I can, and it’s not,” Bishop says. “Check me in the morning, Cousin, and tell Jacques to fill the tub. We’ll get to it soon.”
“And poor Cordelia can sneak in a few bites while she casts healing spells?” Julius says.
“Mmm, best not,” I say. “I might bite him by accident.”
“He might like it.”
“I’ll never know if you don’t leave and give me a chance to find out,” Bishop grumbles.
Julius claps his cousin’s shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time later. Now let me see what damage you’ve done. Cordelia? Your tray is in the guard room.”
Julius examines Bishop as I eat. I share with both of them, proving I am indeed in a good mood. Relief is a strange thing. It makes me giddy, yes. Also hungry, in more ways than one.
I’m out of the cage. I escaped both Reginald and Henry. I’m back in my bedchamber.
And I’m with Bishop. Safe. I might chafe at the idea, but I’m going to stop doing that. There is nothing wrong with feeling relieved being with someone who can help protect me.
I cast a few more healing spells, and Julius asks about them. He knew witches concoct salves, but he didn’t realize we had medical spells. He doesn’t ask whether I used any on my own injuries. That would remind Bishop that he inflicted some of those injuries.
“Done,” Julius says. “The doctor only has one recommendation, Bishop, which he won’t bother giving, since you’ll ignore his advice.”
“Which is…?” I say.
“Rest.”
Bishop snorts.
Julius throws up his hands. “I tried. I’ll take my leave and wish you both a good night.” He peers at Bishop. “Try to get some sleep.”
“I will.”
As Julius is leaving, Jacques pops his head in. “Bishop? The bath is drawn.”
“Thank you.”
Jacques withdraws. Once he’s gone, Bishop rises from the bed. “Come on then,” he says. “We’ll move to my room before the bathwater cools.”
“I need it that badly?”
He smiles. “I was teasing about that. When you don’t bathe, it only makes your natural scent stronger, and I don’t find that unpleasant at all. However, I suspect you feel differently, after being in the same dress for three days.”
“I do,” I admit.
“A hot bath will be good for your aches and pains as well. Come along then.”