Meant to Be Mine #2
I move methodically across his face, neck, and hands. I’m incredibly aware of the shallowness of his breaths, the warmth emanating off him, and the emerald eyes tracking my every movement. The weight of his stare is heavy, but oddly, I don’t mind. I feel like I could live beneath it forever.
Once the dirt is gone, I open the jar of blessed salve.
“This feels familiar.” I swipe my finger through the enchanted cream, memories of another jar of salve, another set of injuries filling my mind.
The Hunter smirks. “I suppose it does.”
I apply the cream to a cut on his cheek, and my gaze drops to his lips. His mouth is so close, it wouldn’t take much at all for me to shift forward and brush my lips against his. We could resume where we’d left off last time, and . . .
Focus, Wren.
Suns, what is wrong with me? Gabriel is injured. This isn’t the time to think about kissing him, even if I desperately want to, more than anything.
I pull back, dabbing cream against another cut. “You keep getting injured, Gabriel,” I murmur, focusing on my work.
He inhales sharply, eyes widening a fraction. “And you keep saving me.”
It feels like there’s something more behind his words, something I’m not ready to dissect.
“That’s true.” I move to his neck, a frown tugging on my lips as I assess the damage. He’s covered in so many cuts; he looks like he got into a fight with a dozen vicious cats and lost. “It’s a good thing I like helping you.”
“Yes, it is,” he says huskily.
I work slowly, painstakingly applying blessed salve to every cut I can find. The skin that I can see is covered in scars, a map of his training and time as a Hunter.
When I’ve addressed all of Gabriel’s visible injuries, I sit back on my heels.
“That’s better.” At least now he won’t die of an infection in the next few days.
My gaze lingers on the scruff on the Hunter’s jaw, and I don’t immediately notice when he shifts.
“Could you pass me a tunic, Wren?” he asks, his gruff voice pulling me from my thoughts.
I glance at the pile of clothes, then back at him. “Sure, but do you need help taking the old one off?”
It won’t be an easy task with his injured arm.
Gabriel tenses, his jaw tight, and there’s something about his behavior that has me canting my head, studying him. Especially when he says, “No, it’s fine.”
My brows furrow, because his definition of fine is very different from mine. “Are you sure?”
He shifts, planting his back more firmly against the wall. “The tunic, if you don’t mind?”
Gabriel’s odd behavior has me pausing. This could just be exhaustion, but it feels like he’s hiding something. I have no idea what it could be, and that more than anything is a reminder that the Hunter and I may be fated, but we don’t really know each other.
That’s an unwelcome thought. Feeling like a cold bucket of water has been dumped on my head, I rise and make my way to the dresser, sifting through the pile to find the requested garment for Gabriel.
A muffled curse comes from behind me, followed by a pained grunt. When I turn around, Gabriel’s shirt is off, and sweat is shining on his brow. He’s cradling his injured arm against his chest, clearly hurting.
I hiss his name, hurrying back to his side. “You should’ve let me help,” I chide. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”
He grimaces, pressing his shoulders against the stone. “I got it off, Wren. It’s fine.”
“I don’t think that word means what you think it does.”
He chuckles, the sound pained. “Oh?”
“You’re hurting.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t want to talk about this any more.
I study him for a long moment before sighing.
Clearly, something’s going on, and I’m not sure what it is.
There’s a look of stubbornness on Gabriel’s face, and I know I won’t be getting any more answers out of him tonight.
Making a mental note to address this later, I drop the topic for now and help Gabriel into his tunic.
It’s tricky, made more difficult by his injury and the way he’s angled against the wall, but we get it on.
Covering those muscles is a gods-damned pity.
Now that he’s changed, the only thing left to take care of is his arm. I reach out to touch it, and he sucks in a sharp breath, flinching as if I stabbed him with a hot poker.
“Fucking suns, Gabe,” I chastise, moving closer so I can get a better look at the limb in question. “You should’ve told me your arm was this bad while I was taking care of your cuts.”
Stubborn, stupid man. Why would he hide how bad it felt? I would’ve dealt with this first. Was this why he didn’t want my help to take off his tunic?
“What can I say, Birdie?” He smirks, but even that can’t hide his pained wince. “I like having your hands on me.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I turn away, busying myself with getting a spare tunic from our bags before examining his arm. It looks sprained, not broken. Fashioning the shirt into a sling, I help the Hunter into it before assessing him again.
“Are there any other injuries you’ve been hiding?”
He shifts back, resting his head on the wall. “Nothing critical. I’ll be fine.”
There’s that word again. “Gabriel, if you’re hurt anywhere else—”
“I’ll be fine, Wren. Go ahead, take some time for yourself. I’m sure you want to get out of those clothes.”
He’s not wrong. It feels like a layer of grime is covering me from head to toe, and washing up sounds like a luxury. But I’m not in the habit of doing a job halfway.
“It can wait. If there’s anything else you need—”
“There isn’t.” His lips twitch into a small smile. “Now, go.”
Gabriel’s tone leaves no room for discussion, and after another moment, I grab my things and hurry into the bathing room. I take off my clothes and scrub myself from head to toe as quickly as possible before changing into a fresh dress. Gods, it feels good to be clean.
When I return, Gabriel is in the same place. He’s changed into a clean pair of pants and is leaning forward, resting his good arm across his knees.
“So.” He looks at the bed, then back to me. “We should talk about the sleeping arrangements.”
“I suppose we should.” I wet my lips. I’d been thinking about it when I got changed.
“I’ll take the floor,” he starts.
At the same time, I say, “You can’t sleep on the floor again. This isn’t like the last time.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, the air heavy, before he lets out a breathy laugh and shakes his head.
“I assure you, I can. It’s rather simple. I’ll lie down and fall asleep.”
“No. It’s inhumane.” Gabriel is injured, but even if he weren’t, it would be cruel to ask him to give up the bed again. Once was enough.
“Birdie,” he coos, and my stomach swoops. “Are you worried about me?”
“Absolutely not.” I am.
The corners of his too-handsome mouth twitch upwards, silently calling out my lie. Though I am loathe to admit it, the Hunter’s well-being is worrying me nearly as much as my own.
He rubs the corner of his lips with his thumb. “You like me.”
“No.” My voice sounds weak, even to my own ears.
“Yes, you do.” Damn his twinkling green eyes that follow me as I carve a trail across the floor.
“I don’t.” I gesture to his arm and the now-empty jar of salve sitting by his feet. “I don’t want to see all my hard work wasted. I didn’t take care of your wounds just for you to turn around and open them back up by sleeping on the incredibly hard floor.”
That’s a perfectly logical argument. Sleep is good for the body, and he’ll rest more easily in the bed. My insistence definitely has nothing to do with the way my core is heating at the thought of sleeping next to the Hunter.
Flustered by these strange feelings making my head spin, I point to the bed. “You need to sleep there. I won’t take no for an answer.” I put my hands on my hips and pin him with a glare. “Besides, we’re both adults. We can share a bed without it meaning anything more. It’ll be . . . fine.”
I think.
I hope.
He raises a brow, but rather than continuing to argue with me he dips his head. “All right, it’s settled. I’ll sleep in the bed.”
“With me,” I add in case he missed that part.
“Yes, Birdie. With you.” His eyes smolder, and there is a fire in my core burning hotter with each word we exchange.
“I . . . Well, okay. Good. That’s . . . good.”
I think?
My chest tightens as Gabriel stands, reminding me how big he is. When he steps towards me—because where else is he supposed to go?—I realize how tight this room is. How small. How utterly unprepared I am for this.
“I am going to go find us some food,” I say in a hurry, swallowing past my dry throat.
I did fairly well ignoring Gabriel’s muscles while I tended to his wounds, and he’d insisted he keep his shirt on while I put on the sling, but now there’s nothing left to distract myself with.
“Why don’t you clean up?” I avert my eyes, trying to douse the heat in my core. “And then . . . I’ll be back.”
Or I may wait for the ground to open up and swallow me whole, because suns fucking save me, have I gotten more awkward?
The uncomfortableness of the entire conversation has momentarily made me forget my exhaustion.
My cheeks are flaming, burning nearly as brightly as my Mark, as I hurry to the door.
I half expect it to be locked, but the knob turns beneath my fingers.
I exhale, opening it. And . . .
We’re not alone.