Page 25 of A Tale of Ice and Ash
“Only if you’re a little less wrong.”
She pinched the wound. It had largely stopped bleeding by now; only a thin trickle still pervaded the flesh. She readied her instruments, threading the needle Oakley had sterilised.
“Lie down,” she instructed.
“There were easier ways of getting me into bed…”
“You’re vile,” she hissed, bringing the needle to his skin, “we’re technically stepsiblings, you know. Or were.”
“It’s not like we grew up together or share any blood at all, it’s not weird.”
“It is disgusting and so are you.” She pushed against his chest. “Lie still.”
“Are you not going to sing me a lullaby?”
“You know, I’m sure Oakley has something around here that can knock you out–”
“He will berate you for wasting his precious potions on a weak little human boy.”
“You’re right. Maybe I better just punch you unconscious instead–”
“You and the dwarf both have terrible bedside manners. You used to be such a sweet little thing–”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Well, not to me, obviously–”
“Are you noticing a common denominator in those situations?”
Cole chuckled, and placed a hand over the one pinned to his chest. “Thank you.”
“For… what?”
“For taking over from the dwarf. Something tells me you’re alittlesofter than he is…”
“You’re… you’re welcome. Least I could do after Wren shot you.”
“I suppose she’ll have to kill me in the morning, lest I reveal your location to my mother…”
“Cole–”
“Which, for the record, I have no plan on doing.”
“Why not?”
“In case you’re right,” he said. “Whatever… whatever I feel for you, I don’t want you dead. Arrowheads, needles and pain aside, it’s quite fun talking to you.”
“I’d return the compliment but…”
“Yes, yes, I’m vile and disgusting and you hate my guts.”
“I don’t hate you, Cole. You’re just not my favourite person.”
“Who is?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, do you have a favourite person? Some beefy dwarven lover? A lone ranger? A tavern wench? A songstress with a voice like a siren?”
