Page 9 of Son of a Witch

He caught my arm and squeezed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Maybe talking about something else might do the trick. “Have you spoken with your family yet?”

“No.” He dragged a hand down the light layer of blonde stubble growing. “I’m dreading that conversation.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Me and my big mouth. Couldn’t say a damn thing right.

“Hungry?” I picked up his food bowl and stabbed a piece of strawberry and kiwi fruit onto the fork.

Tor pushed it away. “You don’t need to feed me, Astra.” Fuck. Real name again.

“You liked it before.” I took the fruit and swallowed it instead. The lump of half-chewed food stuck in my throat. “Very much as I recall. You enjoyed sucking the fruit juice off my fingers.”

“That was before.” Emotion crackled in his voice. “Now it makes me feel helpless.”

I was losing the man I loved. He fell into despair, and I couldn’t do a thing to save him.

I raised my palms. “Fine. I won’t do it, then.” I flicked my finger at his uneaten meal. “Get your big boy panties on and do it yourself. Eat to keep your strength up.”

That won my man back from the edge, and Tor’s cheeky eyebrow flicked up. “Panties?” He playfully lifted the blanket to check out what he was wearing. “Did someone change my underwear while I was out?”

I sniffed with relief. Now that was the man I knew and loved. Glimpses of him shone through like sunlight on a dark, stormy day.

I set my hand on his and curled my fingers over his. “Don’t give up yet.” I tried to be his voice of reason as Raze would do if he were here.

My heart clenched for a different reason, and I had to push it down and stay strong for Tor. Raze was strong enough to take care of himself at the moment.

“Let me do some research. There might be a spell or something. When we get out of here next, I’ll stop by the markets to ask about a cure.”

The dark voice in the back of my head scolded me for putting notions in his head that I might not be able to meet.

He captured my wrist and squeezed so tightly it pinched. “Just stop, Astra.” He shoved me away and my heart crunched. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“What do you want to hear then?”

“Just don’t put notions in my head about walking again. I don’t want my hopes to be crushed.”

Crap. Foot in the mouth.

“I know you’re trying to help, Supergal, and I appreciate it.” He forced a smile that felt like half of him. “I’m not feeling myself right now. Give me time to process this.”

Understandable. His body went through trauma. On top of it, he suffered the emotional punch of his injury and a life of being confined to a wheelchair. The second time he broke his back. Second time it broke his resolve. Last time he found a way to bounce back, and I hoped he found it again.

“I know.” I rubbed on his leg, and he glanced down.

“I can’t feel you, Supergal,” he croaked, and my heart crunched.

I read somewhere that people with spinal cord injuries lost sensation below the neck, others below the waist, depending on the location of the injury. As the doctor said earlier, it might take months for my man’s sensations to return.

“What about here?” I touched his forearm.

“I feel that.” Creases in his brows released.

“And here?” I moved up to his biceps.

He squeezed weekly to show off his hulking muscles and gave me a classic, bright, mischievous Tor grin.

“Show off.” I laughed and slapped his arm.

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