Page 4 of Blood Skye (Skye Druids #6)

Chapter Four

Nerve endings fired like lightning everywhere Carlyle’s skin met hers. Song focused on a spot on the rug and concentrated on keeping her breathing even. They were enemies, yet his touch was gentle, as if he were tending to a friend.

His breath fanned her back, sending chills racing across her skin. He delicately placed his fingers around the wound and lightly plucked out some glass. Each of his movements was careful and relaxed—all a first for her.

It affected Song in ways she didn’t dare name.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He kept his gaze on her injury while she tried to reconcile sleeping so soundly in the car. She should’ve been paying attention to where they were going. He hadn’t spelled her. She was the one who had closed her eyes. She had let herself fall asleep.

With the enemy.

Carlyle tugged on a deeply embedded piece of glass, yanking her from her thoughts. She dug her nails into her palm at the stab of pain.

“ It’s deep,” he told her. “ And large.”

“ Pull it out.”

He blew out a breath and lowered his hands to his lap. “ I’m not a Healer .”

“ I never said you were.”

“ It’s going to require stitches.”

She turned her head to meet his gaze. “ What are you waiting for?”

“ I don’t have anything stronger than ibuprofen for the pain.”

“ I wouldn’t take it even if you did.”

His eyes, a vivid turquoise that reminded her of the waters of a tropical island, studied her for a long moment. “ Do you like pain?”

“ No one likes pain.”

“ Some do.”

She looked away. “ I’m not one of them.”

“ I need to get some other supplies,” Carlyle said, standing to walk around her.

Song listened as he moved around in the adjacent room before returning a short time later with a needle, some thread, a bottle of gin, and a lighter.

Carlyle resumed his seat and lit a candle. “ You should have told me you were injured.”

“ There wasn’t time to do anything about it.”

“ You bled in my vehicle.”

She shifted to get more comfortable in the chair. “ I’ll clean it.”

“ I don’t care about the mess.”

That made her look at him again. “ Are you saying you cared that I was hurt?”

He glanced her way but didn’t respond.

She adjusted her arm, which pulled at the wound and caused fresh blood to roll down her back. Now that her adrenaline had worn off, everything hurt. Or maybe it was just that Carlyle had told her how bad it was. The pain would pass eventually. It always did.

The lodge was silent as Carlyle threaded the needle after heating it over the flame. He unscrewed the cap on the gin and poured it over the needle before handing her the bottle. She tipped it back and took a big swallow, letting it slide down her throat to settle in her stomach. She hated the taste of gin, but it was the closest thing she had to a painkiller. Only a fool would refuse it.

“ Are you ready?” Carlyle asked.

Once more, she was shocked that he was being so considerate. She wouldn’t have done the same to him. Song nodded.

The moment she did, he pulled out the glass. She sucked in a breath against the wave of agony that hit her. Thick , warm blood poured down her back, seeping into the waist of her pants.

“ Breathe ,” he urged.

Song made her lungs relax and exhaled. Another surge of pain rolled through her when Carlyle poured gin over the wound. Her back arched. He rested his hand on her uninjured shoulder to keep her seated.

“ I have to get it sewed up to stop the bleeding.”

She heard the urgency in his voice. It took all Song had to remain where she was. She didn’t have the energy to reply or even nod that she’d heard him. Her right arm was over the back of the chair, and she leaned her head down on it. The first stick of the needle in her already tender flesh was excruciating.

The room grew fuzzy and swam around her. Song fought to remain awake and alert. She felt herself tilting to the left but could do nothing to stop it. Carlyle steadied her with an arm around her. Agony radiated from the wound in every direction, slicing through her. Dots edged her vision as the needle pierced her flesh over and over.

Finally , Carlyle said, “ It’s done. I need to tie off the thread and bandage it. I’m going to sit you up for just a moment, okay?”

She managed to tilt her head. He tenderly straightened her in the chair and made sure she wouldn’t move before quickly tying off the suture. She heard paper being ripped and medical tape pulled before he gently wiped the blood off her back and arm. After he’d bandaged the wound, he dabbed something on the smaller cuts.

“ All done. There is still glass in your hair, though,” he told her.

Song lifted her gaze to his auburn head when he stood and walked around her. “ And yours.”

He reached up to his head, and his lips twisted. “ So there is. There are eight rooms. Take your pick. I’ll bring a change of clothes to you.”

Song hesitated. She didn’t like showing fear or weakness to anyone, least of all her enemies, but she wasn’t sure she could stand, much less climb stairs.

“ I can carry you,” Carlyle offered.

That got her to her feet. “ I’ll be fine.”

“ Asking for help doesn’t make you weak.”

“ Which way to the stairs?”

He pointed behind him. Song started toward the door with measured steps. If her legs gave out, she wanted it to happen when he wasn’t looking. She found the stairs and gripped the banister with her right hand. Sweat dotted her brow by the time she reached the first landing. Her legs were wobbly and threatened to give out when she made it to the second floor. She went to the first door she came to and opened it.

Stumbling inside, she lurched to the bed. She curled up on her right side as she gave in to darkness.

Dull , aching pain brought Song back to consciousness. She opened her eyes and looked at the window where the sun’s soft rays filtered through the panes. A delicious aroma met her nose, causing her stomach to rumble with hunger. She sat up to find a clock on the bedside table, telling her it was just after noon.

She found a bottle of water and two ibuprofen tablets on the bedside table. Song grabbed the water and downed half before swallowing the pills and looking around the room. The walls had been painted a soft mint. The carpet was cream with a floral rug at the end of the bed. Floral curtains bracketed the windows. The bed covering was white with green accent pillows. Framed prints of leaves hung on the wall. A set of clothes sat on the green-and-mint-plaid bench at the foot of the bed.

She stood and gathered the clothes as she investigated the two other doors. One was to a closet, and the other a bathroom. She peeled off her blood-stained pajamas and tossed them into the garbage. Catching sight of the shower, she paused. Standing beneath the hot spray would feel nice, but she couldn’t get her bandages wet.

She took the sprayer from its holder and let it dangle as she kneeled beside the tub. Then she flipped her head over and carefully shook out her hair. Glass dinged against the tub as it fell. Next , she turned on the water and used the handheld to wet her hair. Song carefully washed and rinsed to get any remaining glass out. It took her some time to wring out the moisture with one hand, but she managed it.

After wrapping her hair in a towel, she moved to the sink to wash her face. Only when that was done did she turn to the clothes. She noticed the bra and panties with the jeans and a camel-colored cashmere sweater. All exactly in her size. Carlyle had obviously planned everything.

There was no way she would be able to get the bra on. At least not without help, and she wasn’t about to ask him to fasten the garment. To her surprise, there was a beige camisole beneath the sweater and a pair of wool socks. It was painful, but she dressed. Then she removed the towel and combed her hair.

Her stomach growled again. She looked at herself in the mirror. She usually had wigs, clothes, and jewelry to get into whatever character she needed. There was none of that this time. There was only her. Carlyle was in for a surprise if he thought to break her. She had been trained by the best.

After they broke her.

She left the room and made her way down the stairs. Once she reached the main floor, she followed the aromas to the kitchen. Song halted in the doorway when she saw Carlyle cooking. He moved about the space, going from stove to counter, adding ingredients and stirring, all while Dean Martin’s voice came through a speaker.

Song took in Carlyle’s tall form. His shirt showed off broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms. She let her eyes linger on his large hands before moving back up his arms to his face. His auburn waves were parted to one side, the ends curling slightly around his ears and on his neck. There was even a lock that hung over one eye.

His brow wrinkled in concentration. She had the sudden urge to smooth her finger across his brow. She spotted a hint of auburn whiskers covering a jawline and chin that many men would kill for. His lips were wide and thin, his nose straight. He had the bearing and confidence of a man raised in the aristocracy.

“ You hungry?” Carlyle asked without looking her way.

“ I am.”

He motioned to the table. “ Sit .”

Wasn’t she his prisoner? Why was he treating her like a guest? Song looked around the room, waiting for something to jump out at her. Nothing did. She walked to the table where two plates had been set out.

“ How is the pain?” he asked.

She looked up and met his gaze. Every time she looked at him, the color of his irises startled her. “ Manageable .”

He returned his attention to the stove. A moment later, he brought the pan to the table. “ Salmon cakes with a salad,” he told her as he plated the food.

Carlyle set aside the pan and returned with a bowl of greens that he divided between them. There was also homemade vinaigrette for the salad and remoulade sauce for the salmon cakes. It all smelled delicious. Nowhere in his file had it said anything about him cooking.

Song took a small bite and was surprised at how good it was. “ I didn’t know you cooked.”

“ There’s a lot London doesn’t know. Though they pretend otherwise.”

She was too hungry and tired to argue. Instead , she devoured the amazing meal. Carlyle finished before her and leaned back in his chair, looking at her. She became uncomfortable beneath his watchful stare.

“ Is this when you begin questioning me?” she asked.

He wiped his mouth with the napkin before setting it aside. “ I’ve never stopped.”

“ I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“ Then tell me what you do know.”

She set her fork on the table and pushed away her empty plate. “ You know I can’t.”

“ Can’t or won’t?”

“ You know the answer. It’d be the same one you would give me if our positions were switched.”

“ It’s my father, Devon .”

She barely hid the wince at him using her alias and sat back, turning to the right to avoid putting pressure on her wound. What was that reaction all about ? She swallowed and answered. “ I’m aware.”

“ He’s all the family I have left. You were at his townhome. They sent you there. To talk to me.” He leaned forward. “ Why you?”

“ Because I get things done.”