Chapter 30 #2
I sucked in a breath. A deep cut ran along his spine, surrounded by fresh bruises. Faint marks of older wounds littered his skin, some nearly faded, others etched into his form. I lifted a hand, tracing one of the bruises lightly with my fingers. Varyth shuddered.
“Isara.”
I couldn’t tell if my name was a warning or something else entirely.
I dipped another cloth into the warm water, cleaning the wound, careful not to press too hard. The injury on his back was deep, and like the first, the edges were already knitting together with that preternatural fae healing. Nevertheless, it needed care.
“Still think this is fine?” I asked, featherlight. “Because you’re shaking, Varyth.”
The silence from him was louder than any roar.
My fingers moved with deliberate care across his skin. The firelight cast dancing shadows over his back, highlighting every curve of muscle.
I cleaned the wound methodically, my breath steady and measured, though my heart was anything but. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on me—my hands on his bare skin, his breaths stuttering subtly whenever my fingers strayed from the task at hand.
Water droplets traced paths down his spine, catching the golden lamplight. I watched, transfixed, as one slipped lower, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.
I swallowed. My mouth had gone dry.
Focus. Breathe. Move.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the healing salve, uncorking the bottle with a pop that was too loud in the silence between us.
The ointment’s herbal scent was sterile and medicinal. I hesitated for just a heartbeat before applying it to the wound on his back, my touch as light as I could manage. Varyth’s muscles tensed beneath my fingers, a nearly imperceptible shudder running through him.
When I was satisfied with my work on his back, I gathered my supplies and moved around to face him once more.
“You said there’s another injury,” I folded the words into something soft, hoping they’d land the same way. “Can I take a look?”
“It’s fine. I’ll manage.”
“You hadn’t even cared for these ones properly, so I don’t believe you.”
“It’s on my leg. My thigh.” The words dragged from him, as though saying them aloud was somehow worse than the wound itself.
I blinked, my cheeks warming. “I’m still going to take a look.”
Varyth scowled, clearly debating whether he could refuse outright. “Isara—”
“I’ll wait as long as you make me, but I need to take a look.” I crossed my arms. “So, you might as well take your pants off, because they’re coming off one way or another.”
“You know, there are far subtler ways to get a male undressed.”
Heat flared up my neck. I fought the urge to shove him.
“Grow up.”
He let out a low huff, but his amusement didn’t fully disappear. Still, he moved to stand, bracing a hand against the back of the chair.
“Are you able to do this yourself?” I asked, watching the tightness in his jaw.
“Yes.”
But the moment he reached for his belt, a low hiss of pain escaped him, his hand pausing mid-motion.
“Stubborn male,” I muttered under my breath. “Just let me.”
“Isara.” This time, my name was definitely a warning.
I ignored him. Stepping closer, I undid his belt, working quickly, efficiently, trying not to let my own flustered thoughts get the better of me. But as I tugged down his pants, one hand brushed against his exposed thigh.
A strangled sound escaped Varyth.
I froze.
“Sorry,” I breathed out.
His hands flexed, his entire body rigid. The silence stretched long enough to be noticeable, long enough to make my pulse spike.
“It’s fine,” he bit out.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the wound, not on the way his muscles tensed beneath my fingers. Not on the way his body had pressed against mine.
This is fine.
This is normal.
This is—
Gods help me. My fingers brushed against his skin again. I forced out a shaky breath.
“Sit.” I stepped back to give him space.
Varyth hesitated for half a second, then lowered himself back into the chair.
I followed without thinking, settling between his legs, nudging them apart so I could see the wound properly. The gash was high on his inner thigh, deep and angry looking, though it had stopped bleeding.
“A female did this,” I said flatly.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I was trained to do the same.” I glanced up, only to find him staring at me, clearly expecting further explanation.
“I was taught to target males in their more… sensitive areas. It offers a better chance at disabling them. Men tend not to strike like this, given they share the same sensitivity.”
Varyth was silent, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he was surprised or because he had no argument. I didn’t say anything further.
Returning my attention to his leg, I pushed his undershorts up higher to better access the wound.
A string of sounds escaped Varyth’s mouth, perhaps intended to be a sentence, but it certainly didn’t come out as one. His breathing had shifted, his entire posture stiffening beneath my touch.
“Relax,” I said, though my own pulse had the audacity to stumble. “It’s just a wound.”
Varyth sucked in a slow breath through his nose, his grip tightening on the arms of the chair. “You do realise,” he said, the words carrying a feral edge, “you’re the one pushing my shorts up.”
“Well,” I mused, “if it bothers you so much, I could always push them down instead.”
The second the words settled between us, Varyth stilled. Completely.
His fingers went white-knuckled against the chair, his entire body locked in place as if the world had tilted on its axis. His eyes widened fractionally. The tension between us, already tight, snapped taut.
I shifted on my knees, suddenly all too aware of how close I was, of how warm his skin was under my hands. Varyth’s throat worked on a swallow.
“Careful,” he growled. But his voice broke halfway through the word.
“What?” I blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “I was just presenting you with the alternative.”
His jaw tightened, his grip on the chair iron-clad. For once, he had no immediate retort. And I realised, with a thrill of satisfaction, that I had thrown him off.
Then, after a long pause, Varyth let out a soft, humourless laugh. Not amusement. It was darker. More frustrated.
“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
I shrugged, dipped the cloth into the healing salve, watching as the thick, herbal mixture clung to the fabric. As though I hadn’t just ignited a war within him.
But I glanced down at the wound again, properly this time. I hesitated for half a second. “This is going to be unpleasant,” I warned, the teasing edge vanishing. “Given the location.”
I took a steadying breath, then applied the salve to the wound as quickly as I could. Varyth’s entire body locked up, a pained sound escaping his lips.
And before I could process what was happening, one of his hands lifted. His fingers curled around the back of my neck. Probably to ground himself, to keep some kind of hold on reality against the pain. His thumb pressed against my pulse as it betrayed me.
I stilled, my breath catching, my own hands suddenly far too aware of where they rested against him. “You’re fine.”
“That’s…” His jaw clenched. “Debatable.”
I opted not to respond.
Focus on the wound.
Focus on the fucking wound.
I dabbed at it again, and he let out another breath, his fingers tightening before relaxing again.
“I should have told you the truth of it all sooner.” His thumb traced another circle against my neck, the touch sending heat spiralling through me despite everything. “I just... I...”
He trailed off, the words dying in his throat like they were too heavy to carry.
“Yeah, well, secrets are clearly working out so well for you.” I gestured toward his injuries with mock admiration.
“I mean, look at this stunning display of tactical genius. Nothing says High Lord in perfect control like getting carved up by Nyxarian soldiers because you failed to mention crucial details about your enemies.”
A startled laugh escaped him.
“Point taken,” he said, and for once there was no calculation. No weighing of words.
I pushed to my feet, wiping my hands on a clean cloth. “Where do you keep your pain tonic?”
“I don’t need—”
“Where.”
Varyth’s expression shifted into something stubborn. Infuriating. “I’ll be fine. Fae healing is more than sufficient.”
“Bullshit.” I crossed my arms. “You’re sitting there barely breathing because every breath hurts. Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise.”
“It’s manageable.”
“So is a knife to the gut if you’re immortal enough.
” I stepped closer, letting the flames dance higher.
“But just because you can suffer through it doesn’t mean you should.
Now tell me where the pain tonic is, or I will march down to your infirmary, drag a healer up here, and have them sedate you into next week. ”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” The words came out feral. “I just spent the last hour cleaning your wounds. I’m not in the mood for your self-destructive nonsense.”
We stared at each other. His jaw worked like he was chewing on words he couldn’t quite force out.
“I mean it, Varyth.” My voice dropped lower, more dangerous.
“Either you tell me where you keep the pain tonics, or I’m getting someone with actual authority over your stubborn ass to make you rest. And somehow I don’t think you want half your court knowing their High Lord is too much of an idiot to take care of himself. ”
“Bathing chambers,” he ground out. “Top shelf. Left side. Blue bottle.”
I turned on my heel and strode back into the bathing chambers, scanning the shelves until I found what I was looking for. The blue bottle was smaller than the healing tonics, its contents dark and viscous. I grabbed it and headed back out.
Varyth hadn’t moved from the chair, still shirtless and bleeding subtle defiance.
“Get into bed.”
His eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Isara—”