33. Chapter Thirty-Three
My insides are a mix of humiliation, pain, and dread. The whole crowd saw me fail. Not just fail, but fall to the ground. If Trinte hadn’t caught me, I probably wouldn’t be standing right now.
And where in twelve Hells did he come from? My knight in shining blue scales caught me before my brains turned to mush on the arena floor. Now he wants to take care of me?
I’m sick to my stomach about it. For many, many reasons.
Starting with the look Coach is giving him.
Trinte agreed so readily, Coach is probably assuming there’s something going on.
Which there is, but not what he thinks. If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d stupidly spend energy trying to explain, we aren’t sleeping together.
Please don’t judge me. I’m not that kind of woman, I swear.
Unfortunately, every bit of strength is spent trying to stay standing. Even that is becoming more difficult. My right arm and wings are useless. The pain tonic from the Healing Medic only dulls the pain.
“Can you walk to the landing pad?” Trinte murmurs, giving my good shoulder a gentle squeeze. I nod mutely, not trusting sobs to escape if I open my mouth.
Orliana comes into my line of sight, face full of worry. “You sure you don’t want me to help? I can.”
Swallowing repeatedly, trying not to cry, I croak out, “It’s fine. I trust Trinte.”
The hand on my shoulder tightens briefly, as if trying to assure me.
My best friend looks between the two of us, unconvinced. She’s probably thinking about all the things that make this incredibly messy.
Except she doesn’t know what we did last night. There’s officially no one in this world I trust more than Trinte Gleanscale.
“If you’re sure …” she says slowly.
“You’re starting to insult me,” Trinte says sharply. “I’d like to think I’ve proven myself to everyone here in this entire fucking conversation, but especially to you, Orliana.”
Fynn growls, but Orliana cringes. “You’re right. I’m sorry for making it sound that way.” She looks at the red Dragon, who’s glaring at his brother. “Let’s head out so he can take her home.”
Coach looks me over one more time. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow, alright? You did good.”
I nod before looking at Luca. “I expect a rematch later.”
He gives a watery smile. “Name the time.”
With that, Trinte helps me slowly make my way out of the arena. I’m too ashamed to look at anyone directly. It was a mistake, but the arena is a large source of my pride and self-worth. Taken out by a rogue tail is so … juvenile.
Trinte is quiet as he leads me down the hallway toward the locker room. When we’re outside the female locker room, he asks, “Do you need anything from inside?”
“My phone and keys are in there.”
His jaw clenches. “I don’t think it’s wise for me to go in there, but—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I can carry it all in my left hand.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Positive.” Without waiting for a response, I will my shaky legs to bring me into the locker room.
Digging my teeth into my lip, I struggle to hold back tears.
Trinte probably hasn’t considered all of the help I’ll need, including dressing, showering, and eating.
I’m right-handed, which makes it all the worse.
These next few days are most likely going to be an extension of tonight’s humiliation. Orliana would’ve been better suited, but she and Fynn are taking Joulian to Slous. I’d be so upset at myself for forcing her to take care of me all because I’m afraid of being vulnerable with Trinte.
He’s still waiting at the door when I exit. Without asking, he grabs my belongings, shoving them into his jeans pocket.
When we’re outside on the landing platform, I deflate further. “How am I going to get home?”
Trinte looks at me with such compassion that it increases my need to cry. “I’ve got you. Nothing a little magyck can’t fix.”
He steps back, never taking his eyes off me. Trinte’s still watching when he shifts into his Dragon form.
Ready?
I nod, unsure of what he’s about to do. A band of invisible power wraps around my waist, lifting me effortlessly. My wings spasm, instinctually trying to fly. I let out a scream through gritted teeth.
Easy, Firefly.
Trinte brings me to where I sat last night, but the magyck keeps me firmly in place. My body stays steady as he takes off, powerful wings lifting the bulk of his body easily. We arrive at my apartment far faster than normal; benefits of fifty foot long wings, I guess.
The closer we get to my front door, though, the harder my heart beats. Each step toward the second floor feels like a dead man’s walk. If it were up to me, Trinte wouldn’t know how I live my life. Even on a good day, I don’t like to look at how I live my life.
When we reach the door, my body’s trembling with beads of sweat roll down my spine. I don’t invite people for a very specific reason.
Trinte pulls the keys out of his pocket. “Which one?”
I point it out. “Look. Before we go in, I need you to promise me that you won’t judge me.”
Confusion flickers across his face. “Judge you?”
Mouth going dry, I motion for him to open the door. “Nevermind. It’s too late. Just try not to laugh?”
He turns the key but continues to stare. “Am I about to find out you have thirty more murder victims hanging from hooks in here?”
The joke lands, loosening some of the tension coiled in my exhausted body. “No, no bodies.” I add with a grim smile, “Just ghosts.”
Trinte raises an eyebrow, pushing open the door. Wind chimes, carefully hung above the door, tinkle. He ducks. “Booby traps?”
“Not when you walk in.”
He laughs, like I’m kidding, then immediately sobers when I don’t join him. “Oh.” Stepping back, he keeps a steady hand on my elbow so I can walk into the apartment.
People don’t come here. No one is invited over. For good reason. With him beside me, I look at the place I call home with new eyes.
My apartment’s sparse in decoration. Nothing’s on the walls. He looks down at the pre-packed bag leaning against the wall. Inside is everything I’d need if the need to run appears.
No couch. The only furniture is a single comfy chair by the single window. It’s where I read when there’s time. The window itself is barred, with wind chimes attached to the bottom.
When he checks to the left, he sees the inside of my kitchen. A coffee maker … and that’s it. I’m not much of a cook. But a large cast iron is always sitting on the stove, waiting to be used. For food or as a weapon.
In fact, the only things on the ground are items that could be weapons. A bat; hammer; another cast iron. Which is ironic, since I could just burn someone to death. But they make me feel more secure.
Trinte’s expression is inscrutable. I chew on the inside of my mouth, ready for him to laugh or minimize my paranoia.
Instead, he says, “Would you like a shower first?”
I nod silently, feeling an avalanche of relief mixing with the fear.
Closing the door behind us, Trinte pauses at the eight deadbolts, then locks them one-by-one. When he’s done, he turns back to me. “Where’s the bathroom?”
I almost laugh because my apartment is tiny, but I point at the six-foot-long hallway. “First and only door on the left. My bedroom is the other door.”
Trinte’s mouth quirks. “If I open either door, will I be decapitated?”
My fists, clenched so tight they’re numb, relax. With a soft laugh, I shake my head. “No, you get to keep your head for now.”
With a crooked grin, he says, “Good. I’m rather attached to it.”
I roll my eyes at the lame joke. He looks me over one more time before walking into the bathroom, pausing for a moment when opening the door. Casting me a playful grin, he steps inside. The shower turns on. Inwardly, I cringe, knowing he’s discovered there’s no shower curtain.
When he steps out, drops of water darken his shirt. “You know they make clear shower curtains, right?”
That’s all he has to say about it? The new information is intriguing, though. “They do?”
He dips his chin, motioning me over. When I’m close enough, he frowns, examining my outfit. “I don’t know how to help you out of this without destroying it.” His blue eye meets my gaze. “I also don’t know how to help you without you being naked.”
My lower lip wobbles. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”
He huffs out a laugh. “I will not be engaging with that question right now. But you’ll let me know if you get uncomfortable at all, okay? The second you don’t want help; the second you feel unsafe, you have to tell me, okay?”
I nod, but he shakes his head. “I need you to say it, Kyrielle.”
“I promise to tell you,” I whisper, my heart picking up to an unbearable speed, increasing the throbbing of my shoulder and wing.
“Okay.” He gives my costume a critical examination. “I’m going to have to cut around the wing attachment area. I’ll cut down the side so it’s easier to repair later. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good.”
Lengthening one of his claws, he carefully cuts away the costume.
He’s so in-tune with me that when I let out a microscopic gasp of pain, he stops.
Even a wince has him pause. Before the entire costume falls away, he grabs a towel from the bathroom and gently presses it against my chest. The gesture chips away at the deadness in my heart.
“You can use this to cover up,” he murmurs.
Except that holding the towel with one exhausted hand is futile. Trinte removes the costume with delicate precision, placing it on the floor next to the cast iron. My skin pebbles from the cold air. Most men would be looking at my naked body right now, but Trinte doesn’t.
His focus leaves my face to look at my arm and wing.
“Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you washed off.”
The shower is steaming hot; the mirror’s fogged completely. Trinte is so big, he practically fills the space with his bulk. He holds out a hand for me to steady myself as I step into the shower. When he sits on the toilet, we’re almost eye-level.
“How would you like to do this?” he asks quietly, watching my face.
“I-I … I don’t know,” I admit. My cheeks burn and despair blooms in my chest. This is so humiliating. No one should have to take care of me like this. No one has taken care of me like this.
“If you let me help,” he says softly, “I can promise you with every fiber of my being that I won’t be inappropriate.”
“I know,” I murmur, tears shimmering in my eyes. Water pours over my shoulders and it feels so good, but this fear thrashing through me is almost paralyzing. “I do trust you, Trinte.”
“Then let me help.”
Exhaling a shuddering breath, I say, “Okay.”