Page 43 of A Fate of Ice and Lies
“Mark me, Elias, if the humans don’t learn to respect you, I’ll do the same to them,”she grumbled.
“You’ll do no such thing,”I said with a quick roll of my eyes at her dramatics.“We’re here to help them, not eat them.”
The front door swung open. I stood, placing the toy on the chair as George helped Brenton limp in, favoring his left leg.
“What happened?” I asked, noting the bloody cut above his eyebrow along with the rips in his long-sleeved shirt and pants.
Sweat pulled Brenton’s disheveled hair back. He wiped at the blood on his forehead without looking at me.
With a shake of his head, George helped Brenton onto the chair. Before I could tuck it away, Brenton grabbed the toy I’d been working on and smirked.
“What is this hideous creature?” Brenton asked, studying the dog.
“What happened to you?” I asked again, ignoring his question.
Brenton held it up to examine the underside, but when he moved his left foot, he flinched. “It has four legs, or is that five?” The words came out pinched.
George took it, and from where I stood, I squirmed while Brenton ran the back of his hand over the bleeding cut.
“Some sort of disfigured tarrasque?” George guessed, thinking of the extinct creature with a lion’s head and reptilian body.
“Why is Brenton bleeding?” I asked with a frustrated bark.
“Is this for the small girl?” Brenton asked, leaning forward to rub his ankle but pulling back with a hiss of pain.
Seeing his pain, I knelt in front of him, then reached inside for patience so Brenton could lead our conversation. ..even if it meant not knowing what had happened until he was ready to tell me.
That was the thing with Brenton. He hated admittingwhen he was hurt, whether physical or emotional. Not that George, Everly, or I were any better. Whereas the rest of us at least acknowledged it, Brenton avoided it. He relied on jokes to either distract himself or us. Or both.
“It’s for Victoria,” I told him.
He grinned, but I saw the agony that throbbed behind his eyes. “I thought you liked the youngling. Why would you make her such a terrible creature?”
With another swipe at the blood dripping from his forehead, he looked toward his ankle. With each moment that passed, the scent of his pain increased. I wanted to push him to allow me to look at his ankle so that I could heal it, but again, I waited for him to be ready.
“It’s a dog, not a tarrasque,” I grumbled.
Brenton wheezed out a laugh while George handed me the toy that I fisted in my hand.
“Screw off, the both of you,” I mumbled, not really meaning it.
Brenton’s eyes dulled as the smell of his pain grew stronger. Still, I waited, and knowing our friend, George seemed to do the same.
“Nalari’s going to fix it before I give it to the girl,” I said.
“Or you could leave the woodworking to us mortals,” Brenton offered, again wiping away the blood before it spilled over his eye. “Look around you.” He waved a hand around the cottage he, George, and Everly had built with little to no magic. “We’re far better at it than you are.”
“That you are, my friend,” I said.
With that, I stood to grab a couple of napkins from the kitchen. When I handed them to Brenton, he held it over the small wound on his forehead.
“George and I were patching up a hole on the barn roof,and I fell through it,” Brenton said, his words carrying an overly critical tone. “Idiot.” He fisted a hand over his knee that he tapped on twice.
I hated the hardened expression on his face. Hated the misery and pain that dulled his hazel eyes further so that the gold was barely visible.
“Remember the time Mother became a baking enthusiast?” I asked.
He scoffed.
