10. Chapter 10
Owain
I remembered my magic climbing her walls before I remembered my own name.
The guilt and shame of my loss of control weighed so heavily on my conscience that I knew it would haunt me long after any physical wounds had healed.
Now, I woke to the warm weight resting against my side shifting.
There was no sharp sting promising my death with the smallest movement.
A miracle—and proof of everything she’d done after I passed out.
Once again, Lunette’s head rested in the hollow of my shoulder. With how much better I was feeling, she must’ve healed me until she had nothing left. The strength I’d regained, she’d paid for by following me into the darkness, exhausting herself beyond all reason.
If she was Assembly, where was her relief healer?
Even in my current state, my hearing was excellent, and yet I sensed no armored men shifting by the front door.
Hadn’t heard any voices other than hers.
Was this scant protection and complete lack of protocol around a prisoner evidence that the Assembly was trying to keep my location hidden?
Or…was it proof that I was completely wrong about her?
I breathed in, only for the maddening smell of baking spices and citrus to invade my senses.
My heart clenched with a sudden, visceral reaction.
An instinct more ancient than fear or discipline made itself a silent command, whispering through every fiber of my being: stay still, don’t frighten her.
Even if I could’ve moved freely, I wouldn’t.
Not when she’d trusted me enough to sleep.
And, gods. My shadows had reached for her—longing to touch, to curl around her, as my arms itched to do now. If she’d been hurt, I would never have been able to forgive myself.
Lunette hadn’t run or attacked like she should have. She’d been startled, yes—but not nearly as terrified as anyone ought to have been when a predator was let out of its cage. She hadn’t summoned help either. Which meant she was very dangerous, or very alone.
I looked around, this time with an eye for damage I might have caused. There were no scorch marks on the floor near the hearth. No broken furniture. No blood—well, fresh blood, at least. I whispered silent thanks.
Slowly, I lifted my head a bit further off the floor. Pain flared, but not enough to drag a curse from my throat. I might be able to sit up if the cursed gods had decided to look away from me for one blessed day.
The angle of the light seeping through the shutters signaled the approach of dawn—a fitting time to awaken for a change.
Slitted, hate-filled green eyes glared at me from the other side.
She’d called the creature “Muffin”—a quaint name for the little demon who obviously wanted to finish the job he’d started on my face.
I eyed him back, allowing my eyes to flash with an obsidian gleam.
The pugnacious creature hissed in response and hopped off the windowsill. Though in truth, I couldn’t blame the veska. I’d brought danger to his home.
The fire in the hearth was down to embers now. It would’ve been freezing if I didn’t have a living blanket lying next to me. Strands of hair covered her face. I couldn’t move the arm she was curled atop to push them away, but maybe just a slight shift with the other…
A mistake. She stirred. Breath hitched. Then her lashes fluttered, and she blinked up at me. Awareness rippled out over her features like a stone dropping into still water.
I braced for her rapid recoil when she realized where she’d slept, for the pain that would follow. Instead, she slowly pushed herself upright with a murmur of apology. She swept the hair from her face and pressed the back of her hand to my brow.
I stilled, eyes searching. This care felt undeserved.
“You’re cooler,” she said, as if touching me hadn’t just undone a remarkable portion of my composure.
“Only sort of…dying,” I grunted, forcing my attention onto the pain because the last thing I had any right to feel in this situation was interest in a woman.
“Sounds like progress to me,” she said with a grin. Her voice was soft from sleep, with a hint of morning roughness. It made parts of me twitch that I’d feared wouldn’t work for quite some time.
Which was when, to my utter horror, I realized I wasn’t wearing any trousers.
“You stripped me bare!” A smirk inexplicably hitched up one side of my lips.
Her mouth fell open. Then she snorted—actually snorted—before clapping a hand over her lips. “I think you’ll find that if I wanted to ogle a man, I wouldn’t choose a half-dead one whose blood isn’t in the right body parts for my needs.”
I scowled to bury the amusement and attraction warring with caution within me as she stood.
“Your husband wouldn’t approve of your actions, I’m sure,” I huffed indignantly, voice still raw. I was fishing, and she knew it.
She gave me that wry grin again. The sinking feeling in my chest when she said nothing to affirm or deny the existence of a husband confirmed far too much about my growing inclinations toward my savior.
“You’ve already soiled yourself twice, m’lord,” she said, executing the sloppiest curtsey I’d ever seen. “I didn’t want to deal with that any longer.”
Every ounce of blood drained from my face. I wanted to die on the spot.
Of course. Of course I’d pissed myself. Fuck.
And she’d seen my cock… Cursed gods, it had probably shrunk into itself like a frightened turtle.
Not a good showing all around.
The worst part was that I couldn’t even be properly humiliated about it. She’d kept me alive. I owed her the dignity of not making my shame her problem.
“I’m not a lord,” I grumbled instead of explaining that particular quirk of male anatomy away. “Apologies for the…mess.”
“I’m a healer. I’ve seen it all.” Her expression softened at the edges as she piled bread and cheese onto a plate. “I also washed your lower legs while you were asleep, but this time I left…the rest for you to take care of. Maybe after breakfast?”
I prayed to the gods that the embarrassment didn’t show on my face.
With impeccable timing, the furry demon hissed from the windowsill again.
She glared at him with a look that could’ve sliced through steel. “Shush, heathen. You’re still not allowed back inside. He’s in pain!”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
She didn’t dignify the lie, just kept preparing two plates.
I needed to know what I was capable of. She watched on, wary, as I tied the blanket that had been covering me around my waist, lifted my feet to bend my knees, flexed my fingers, braced my arms—and immediately regretted every prideful decision that had led me to this moment.
The room lurched as I managed a strangled breath.
But I had heaved myself up onto my elbows.
She made a quiet, incredulous sound before muttering, “You shouldn’t be able to do that yet.”
“Stubborn,” I said hoarsely. The effort required to hold myself in that half-up, half-down position felt like one of the legendary tasks of the great heroes in bard’s tales.
Lunette smiled, and my discomfort was immediately forgotten. She looked around for something then rushed over to what looked like an old blanket and spread it out over her bed.
She turned around, saw how tight my jaw was, and clicked her tongue, unimpressed. “Right. I’ll help…. Just in case.” The last she’d clearly tacked on to spare my pride.
I grunted. “Don’t need—” I stopped myself. Swallowed. Thought better. “—but thank you.”
She was already there, hand sliding behind my back. Every single muscle I could control locked in place—not just from pain, but from the sheer awareness of her. She was small, but steady and so soft.
“We’re this far. Let’s get you onto the bed.”
Every instinct within me screamed that she shouldn’t have to bear my weight, but the alternative was collapsing onto my face. Her arm tightened around my torso, hand positioned to avoid my wound, and I heaved myself up.
Pain and dizziness nearly toppled me—straight into her. I braced myself just in time. It didn’t matter how much it hurt; I would adjust my balance so she would carry as little as possible.
The shadows under my skin stirred at the contact, at the scent, inching ever closer as if they recognized her. I forced them to retreat with a snap of will before they could venture out to inspect the thing they seemed to want most, terrified she’d feel it.
One step. Two. On the third, she helped me lower to the blanket. I sank against the mattress, fighting to keep my body from shaking.
Lunette leaned over me to grab the pillows positioned at the head of the bed, but the movement almost sent her tumbling into my lap. I went utterly still, not wanting to make it awkward, but a jolt shot through me at the close contact anyway.
“Sorry,” she whispered, flinching too. She pulled back up quickly, giving the pillows a quick, decisive plump behind my back.
But she was still close. So close. For a brief, suspended moment, the world seemed to shrink, narrowing to her face above mine. Her breath was soft, her smell impossibly sweet, gaze so compassionate it made me question my suspicions all over again.
I’d clearly lost my mind.
She looked young but had the bearing of a more mature woman. Nothing about her said meek. Her eyes showed a person who’d seen some horrors of the world and come out the other side the stronger for it.
Before I could study her more closely, she blinked and righted herself with a rapid step back. I braced myself on the bed as she scrutinized me with a healer’s eye. “How’s the pain?”
“Manageable.”
“On a scale of one to ‘I’m actually dying’?”
“Manageable,” I repeated, sharper.
She lifted a brow in a way that made me want to look away, but I refused to. “Are you hungry, Lord Grumpy?”
“No.” Another lie.
“That wasn’t an answer. That was a performance.” She turned to reach for a cup then paused. “Well, you’re on my bed now, so I think I deserve to know your name, at least.”