Chapter 18 #2
The healer produced shears and cut into the fabric of her pants.
When he placed a hand on her thigh, I nearly jumped forward and shoved him away.
Instead, I forced myself to focus on pulling our clothes out of my soaked pack and laying them over racks by the fire.
The leather was likely ruined, despite the magic the craftsman had imbued into it to ward it against the elements.
The heat of the hearth brought much-needed warmth to my flesh as I finished my task. I unbuttoned my jacket and tugged my tunic overhead too. With my back to the flames, hiding the perfect circle that now decorated the space between my shoulder blades, I kept my attention firmly focused on my mate.
The male leaned over, giving Sylaira’s now-bare knee a thorough examination. I snatched another blanket for myself, if only to allow myself closer to her, to ensure he wasn’t hurting her. The healer shot me a glare, and I slunk back to a chair.
“Yes, I think her kneecap is broken. How many days ago was this? It appears as though it happened only hours ago. I’ll give her some potions to aid her own internal healing process. She appears malnourished too, which isn’t helping.”
Guilt gnawed at my gut. It was all my fault. I was the reason she wasn’t healing quickly enough.
He moved on to her torso, and I had to dig my fingers into the blanket, keeping myself wrapped up, to prevent myself from jumping on him and yanking him off my mate. When his hands brushed over Sylaira’s ribs, a flare of pain shoved between my own.
“That looks to be the right spot,” I gritted out.
The healer raised an inquisitive brow in my direction, and once again a whiff of suspicion drifted off of him. I’d brought countless to him to be treated over the years. And yet I couldn’t help but think this time, he saw the stark contrast I felt within myself.
Calculated control wrecked and replaced by an obsessed monster.
I covered my words with what I hoped was a reasonable explanation. “At least that’s what she told me before I gave her the potion.”
He made a noise of confirmation. Then, he continued with his examination. “Did she tell you of anything else?”
“Just those two spots,” I replied a little too quickly. Internally, I kicked myself.
Get a fucking grip.
The healer lifted her head, brushing her silvery hair out from beneath her back.
It should be me doing that.
I loathed myself for the thought.
Sylaira let out a small, pained noise. The sound shattered me. “Can you give her something to keep her unconscious too?”
The male finally finished his examination and lifted his gaze. “I can.” Judgment loaded the words.
“She can’t escape. She is far too valuable to the crown,” I growled, this time sounding far more like my normal self. Probably because it wasn’t a lie. If she ran again…I would absolutely break her, without hesitation. Whatever it took to make her mine.
The bond hummed its agreement, curling up like a watchful beast behind my sternum.
“Understood,” the male confirmed. He eased her upright and poured more poppy and something else I couldn’t name down her throat—probably whatever he wanted to give her to help her magic. “I have some spare clothes for her to wear so she doesn’t catch even more of a chill.”
“I’ll dress her.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I’m not sure I have enough energy to fetch myself food. If you could ask the tavern-keep to prepare something for me so I don’t have to go back out in the rain?”
The healer swept into a low bow. “Of course, Herr R?viel. I will find clothes for the Seer and then allow you privacy.” When he straightened, his eyes tightened ever so slightly at the corners.
“I appreciate it,” I replied, forcing myself to keep my distant air.
Hopefully he attributed my mood to the lack of rest and depletion of my magic.
At least I hadn’t hit burnout—even though I’d been close.
Far closer than I’d been since my magic manifested and I started honing the weapon it provided me.
With ice-blue irises, it was nearly impossible to succumb to it.
Our magic slowed to a trickle before it ran out completely, giving us plenty of time to surrender our holds.
From another cabinet, he produced a thick wool sweater that would swim around her shoulders, along with a loose pair of pants. “If you’ll ensure these are rolled up past her knee, I would appreciate it. It will allow me to track her progress more easily and adjust the binding as needed.”
“Of course,” I replied, accepting the clothes from him. With a nod, he departed, his footsteps echoing down the stairs. When the bell above the door rang, signaling his departure, I strode to my mate.
Her lashes brushed her cheeks, brows relaxed and at ease. Blue no longer tinged her lips, and that peachy color finally returned in full. She was undeniably beautiful, a Goddess fallen to our earth.
Picking up the shears, I removed the last of her leggings, careful not to touch her in too intimate of a way while she was unconscious.
She’d be angry enough with me upon awakening.
That didn’t stop my cock from hardening, pressing painfully against the restraints of my pants.
I had to stop and adjust myself before snaking light beneath her so I could peel the wet clothing from her skin.
White held her aloft while I shimmied the pants up her legs, careful not to jostle her knee.
I rolled the left side up to leave her wound accessible, the fresh binding around it a welcome sight.
It was far better than what I had managed in the hollowed-out trunk.
The mottled, bruised skin that peeked out of either side flashed anger inside me.
Shoving the tumult of emotion aside, I worked her tunic off and dried the bind around her breasts with a nearby cloth. It was still damp when I was finished, but I didn’t want to remove it. So instead, I covered her with a thick sweater, hoping it would absorb the rest of the moisture.
I ferried her to the waiting bed, fatigue clawing up my spine. The plush pillows nestled her, and I found a heavy pile of blankets to cover her. A soft sigh fled her lips as I tucked the wool around her shoulders.
Almost like she appreciated how I cared for her.
I smothered the hope that came with that sound.
Her scent—ghostflower, still clinging to her rain-soaked skin—filled my nostrils. I inhaled it like the selfish, greedy male I was.
The bell rang again, forcing me to back away from my mate. The bond thrashed with each step I placed between us. But I had to—for both our safety. Iaoth couldn’t hear of this before I had time to speak with her.
“Hot stew and rolls for you, Herr R?viel,” the healer called out. I emerged from the room just as he ascended the stairs. He placed it on a table by the hearth, and I took a long route around, keeping my back—and my mate mark—hidden.
“Thank you, healer. That will be all for now,” I dismissed him.
“Are you certain you don’t want me to sit with her?” he asked, head cocked slightly to the side.
“Perhaps when I am ready to sleep,” I told him.
He nodded and swept into another low bow. “In that case, I’ll be in the workshop downstairs preparing more potions for her recovery.” Spinning on his heel, he disappeared once again.
I pulled out the chair and sat, nostrils now filled with heavy spices. Steam wafted off the bowl, and I tore into a piece of bread, dipping it into the broth. One bite led to two, and soon I was slurping down the last of the contents, warming from the inside out.
When I finished, I went to that same cabinet and pulled out a shirt and pants for myself. Quickly changing, I tossed my dirty, damp trousers in front of the fire and returned to Sylaira. She hadn’t moved.
So I sat in a chair at her bedside, the storm still raging beyond the windows, and studied. Watched. Tried to discern the Goddess’s plan in making us mates.
Because I had to believe our Radiant Mother had a reason for binding us.
One that wasn’t an irrefutable punishment for all my sins.