Chapter 28
“Thornius Nettilus, or thorny nettles, can be found near rivers and streams. Whatever you do, steer clear of their blue leaves and stalks.”
— Flora and Fauna of the Seelie Lands
Ifound twigs in my curls. Bloody twigs! How long have I been going around looking like there was a bird’s nest on my head? Why didn’t Maddox say anything?
He’d probably tell me I was the most beautiful bird’s nest.
The thought makes me chuckle. Then I remember what happened to him, and my heart sinks.
How could anyone abandon that sweet, beautiful man?
Because he cried too much. Poppycock. When I was an infant, I was stricken with colic. My mother never once stuffed fabric into her ears so she didn’t have to listen to me.
We may not always get along, and I’ll never agree with her preoccupation with my wardrobe, but she hasn’t abandoned me yet, and I know she never will.
A scream echoes through the canyon, deep and guttural. Rife with pain.
Maddox.
I launch myself toward the shore and stumble along the uneven ground to grab his dagger from the stones. My feet slip and slide as I sprint toward the dreadful sound.
I don’t know how I’ll save him, but I run anyway, finding him standing alone near the river, his face and hands dripping with water, the front of the dark pants he wears under his trousers soaked as well.
There’s no sign of a wolf or any other predator. Maybe it’s a snake.
Oh, heavens. Please don’t be a snake.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I scan the ground. If there was a snake, it’s long gone.
“I am on fire,” he whimpers, blinking through tears streaming from his eyes, glistening on his cheeks.
“Did you eat something you shouldn’t have?” I didn’t come across any berry bushes, but I was in such a rush to reach him, I could’ve missed them.
“No,” he pants, using his forearm to swipe at his eyes.
Then what in the world is—
On the ground behind him is a ball of roots attached to a thin stalk lined with fuzzy blue leaves.
Shit.
Dread twists in my stomach when I realize this isn’t the only plant. The entire shore is lined with them. “Did you go down there?” I gesture farther down river with the blade.
“Yes?”
I was afraid he would say that. “It’s the thorny nettles.”
“What is thorny nettles?” he whimpers, his hands flexing and shaking.
I take him by the elbow, examining them more closely.
Shit.
They’re covered in welts.
“The plants all along the bank. They’re like normal nettles only much, much worse. They have tiny spines that sting you.”
He tries to open his eyes, but his poor face is beginning to swell. How in the hell did he get thorny nettles in his bloody eyes?
“How do you make it stop?” he gasps.
Stay calm. Don’t panic. Remember your lessons back in school. How do you cure a thorny nettle sting?
Dock leaf. The broad, dimpled leaves also grow near riverbanks.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Sure enough, there’s a whole mess of them between the nettles. Carefully, I pick my way through, grabbing a handful, then another. There’s no telling how many I’ll need or if I’ve been stung as well.
When I return, I find Maddox flinging his arms around like he’s trying to climb out of his own skin.
“I’m back. It’ll be over soon.” I spit on the leaf and rub it into itself until the surface breaks and a green sap appears at the creases. “Hold out your hands.”
He thrusts both hands toward me, and I rub the gooey leaf along his skin, praying it works. I’ve only ever read about small stings, never anything this widespread. “Is it helping at all?”
“A little.”
That’s something, at least.
I prepare the next leaf and drag the goo down his cheeks and across his eyes. Still, his grimace remains, which is strange because the sap should have soothed the worst of it by now.
“Were you stung anywhere else?”
He doesn’t move or speak. What is his problem? Clearly, the man is in excruciating pain. Doesn’t he want the burning to end? “Where else, Maddox?”
He gestures to his groin with a gooey hand.
Oh . . . Oh no. “Is it your . . . ?”
A nod.
How the hell did he get that covered in nettle stings?
He tries to blindly swipe for the leaf. “I can—”
“No, you can’t. There might still be spines on your hands.” If that’s the case, he’ll only make it worse. I have to do this.
It’s fine.
There doesn’t have to be anything strange about the situation. I spit on the next leaf and massage the two sides together, working up a thick green paste.
“I’m going to remove your pants.”
The muscles in his flat stomach flex as I reach for the waistband. I can be clinical. I can be blasé. With the leaf in one hand, I use the other to tug his pants down his hips. They fall to the ground and—
Holy heavens . . .
Maddox Finch is huge.
“Nia . . .” His voice breaks, his hands coming down to cover himself, but I smack them away.
“The spines, remember?”
This is fine. Not a big deal. I’ve seen plenty of men disrobed. This is no different, except it’s green and exceptionally large.
I flatten the leaf in my palm and then wrap my hand around his manhood and try not to die of mortification when he thickens in my grip. How is it possible that it can get any bigger?
His stomach hollows as he tries to pull his hips back. A half-groan, half-whimper tumbles from his lips as I spread the paste all over his green skin. “There. All finished.”
He grunts and turns away, shrinking down on the stones as if he can make himself invisible.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” I tell him even as my own face burns like I’ve spent all afternoon under the blazing sun. I tuck the remaining dock leaves into my bra and then hurry to wash my hands in the river, giving him a moment to himself.
By the time I return, Maddox is fastening his belt, his head hanging, avoiding my gaze.
His jaw pulses as he stares down at the stones. “I do not wish to speak about this ever again.”
“Really, Maddox. It’s a perfectly natural reaction.” One day, we might even laugh about it.
“Please.”
Not this day, apparently.
“How long must I leave this on?” He holds out his hands. The paste has dried almost white, cracking in the creases of his skin.
“Until the stinging stops completely. Let me know if it starts to hurt anywhere else. I have extra.” I pat my chest.
Maddox turns away to collect his rucksack and then stomp back to where I left my dress.
He doesn’t look at me when I put on my own clothes, nor when we head farther down the canyon. He doesn’t try to make small talk and responds to all my questions with one-word answers or grunts.
There must be some way to make him forget his woes.
Wait! I know.
“Would it make you feel better if you were to see me naked?”
He blinks through the dried goo, his jaw hanging as he makes a wheezing sound.
“Well? Would it?”
His thick black hair brushes his curled shoulders when he shakes his head. “That would make everything much worse.”
“How would it make everything worse?” It’s not as if he hasn’t seen me in my undergarments. This would simply return us to even footing.
“I do not need pity pie.”
“What in the world is pity pie?”
“It is when you only offer such things because you feel sorry for me.”
That’s ridiculous. “It’s not pity pie.”
“It is, and I want none of it.”