Page 61 of Enchantment of Silver and Sea
I felt a chill run down my spine. My eyes landed on the dagger that was poking out of the bandolier. “Did you…?”
“Did I stab them to death? No, I knocked them out with a powder from Sigrid.” He shook his head. “For fuck’s sake.”
I wanted to ask just why exactly he was armed then. But one thing at a time. I needed to see the extent of his injuries. I reached over him and struck a match, then began lighting the candles. As soon as the candlelight illuminated him, I let out an involuntary gasp.
Besides the leaves and grass sticking to him and whatever had happened to his leg, Kieran’s face, neck, and arms were covered in cuts and gashes of varying severity. His shirt was torn at the top, between the collar and right sleeve, as if someone had yanked on the bottom of the shirt and ripped it in a desperate attempt to restrain him. At first glance, his pants and boots appeared normal at least. Then I noticed the strange way that the light was reflectingoff his left leg, and realized there was more to his leg injury than I had thought. The black jean material was soaked in blood.
“What in the actual fuck, Kieran?”
He looked genuinely confused by my reaction. “I just told you what happened.”
“Right, but it looks like it was a really serious fight.”
He barked out a laugh. “What part of ‘fourEnforcers’ didn’t sound serious to begin with? I’m not immortal, you know.”
I actually didn’t know that. Not for sure. I tucked that bit of information away for future reference, then began rifling through my cabinets. I gathered antiseptic, bandages, a jug of water, towels, and…food? Was he hungry?
Of course he was.
I hurried back to where he sat, my arms full. But before I did anything else, I found myself voicing the question that was on the tip of my tongue.
“Why are you here?” I tried to make my tone as even and non-accusatory as possible. But a little bit of hurt may have snuck through.
Kieran’s expression was unreadable. When he spoke, it was in that tone that grated on me, the one that made me feel like he was trying to be patient with me. “Younamed a water spirit,” he said slowly. “Andreceiveda gift from a water spirit. You really think we were just going to say, ‘Thanks, see you later!’ and never seek you out again?”
I had already forgotten about the larimar stone that was tucked in the underside of my mattress. “I don’t know what any of that means, though.”
“Neither do we.”
After an uncomfortable moment, I set the jug of water down in front of him, along with a drinking glass and one of the blueberry muffins that Brielle had baked. I filled his glass with water and pushed it toward him meaningfully, then went to work cleaning his cuts and gashes, one at a time. I wet the towels and used them to carefully dab away the dirt and dried blood from each laceration, then followed with Medical division-issued antiseptic and a bandage.
Even with the state Kieran was in, I couldn’t ignore the warmth of his skin and the solid curves of the muscles of his arms as I applied each bandage. There was still tension fizzing in the air between us. Tension after how he had acted the day after we kissed. Tension that seemed to come from words unspoken on both ends.
I was already looking ahead to the cuts on his face with dread. I wasn’t sure if I could bear to be that close to him.
Kieran was quiet while I did all of this. If the antiseptic burned as I applied it to each open wound—which I was certain that it did—he didn’t show it. I had started at his wrists, traveled up his forearms, across his biceps, and was finishing bandaging his shoulders when I realized that the fabric of his shirt was glistening with the same blood-soaked sheen as his jeans.
Before I had time to feel nervous, I ordered, “Take off your shirt.”
Still without a word, he complied. I wasn’t sure if it was the uneasy energy between us that kept him from making one of his usual suggestive remarks, or something else. But I decidednot to push my luck by questioning it. As he dragged his shirt over his head, I allowed myself exactly one second to marvel at the sight of him. And then I forced my brain to return to the task at hand.
He had a slash along his left pectoral muscle, the shape of which told me that it was from an Enforcer’s dagger or sword. And he had a gash between his right hip and his abdominal muscles, which was still bleeding and had tiny rocks embedded in it, as if from a bad fall. The hip appeared to be the worse of the two, so I started there. When my fingertips grazed over his lower abdominal muscles, he inhaled sharply.
I jerked my hands away and looked up at him.
“I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
He blinked a few times. Then turned and grabbed the untouched muffin and the glass of water. “You’re fine,” he mumbled around a bite, not making eye contact. He chased it down with a quick swig of the water. “Just took a hard fall on that side. As you can see.”
“Yeah, I can.”
Something flitted across his face. Was it…humor? Disappointment? Both?
I felt like I had said the wrong thing somehow, so I lowered my head and returned to bandaging the wound. When I was finished with his hip, I moved on to the slash across his chest. Afterwards, I sat back on my heels to survey what was remaining.
The cuts on his face and the wound on his leg.
In retrospect, I should have started with his leg. That was probably going to end up being the worst of his injuries. Butsomewhere in the back of my mind, I had known from the way the shine of the blood traveled up his pant leg that he was going to need to take off his pants. Between that and tending to the wounds on his face, I didn’t know which made me more anxious. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if it were anyone else. But not knowing where we stood with one another, it all felt too intimate.
