Page 64 of Finding Her (Lore of the Fields #1)
He switched off the lights, burying us in a soothing darkness.
His shadow walked to the sink to wash his hands, then to the cabinet.
The sounds of him shuffling amongst the shelves somewhat drowned out my gasping breaths.
Moments later, the faint light of a candle cast just enough orange into the space for me to make out the outlines of our surroundings.
It wasn't bright enough to illuminate the color in the room. All of the red.
“Alright.” He crouched in front of me, setting a rectangular case on the ground. “What hurts?”
I couldn’t form coherent thoughts, much less strangle them past my quivering lips.
Instead, I tilted my head side to side to show him where my attacker’s claws had sunk into my neck, the injuries stung with the stretch of skin.
His fingers delicately removed the frayed black ribbon from my throat.
He examined the punctures with a forced neutrality to his expression, although glimmers of agony and rage sparked in his eyes.
I heard the case unzip. Graysen swiftly pulled out a vial, dumping some of its contents into a rag he had wetted in the filling tub.
He dabbed at the injuries, and I winced each time he came in contact with my wounds.
“I know, I know. I’m so sorry.” His brows arched sympathetically.
After cleaning, he applied a salve to each puncture.
I tried not to think about how deeply he was pushing the paste in, how that meant the wounds were fairly deep.
I locked my eyes on a singular spot above me.
He grabbed another clean cloth, drenched it in warm water, and brought his cool eyes to the left side of my face.
I hadn’t thought anything was cut there, but some skin must have split from the punch.
He gingerly dabbed at my brow, and I yelped.
His face twisted in pain. “I think it’s broken.” He swallowed thickly. “I promise it will heal.”
A tear ran down my right cheek. “I can’t see out of that eye, Graysen.”
“It’ll heal, baby girl.”
I nodded strictly in the name of agreement, but I didn’t believe my body could come back from this the same as it was that morning.
“Here,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jar, shaking a tablet into his palm. “Dissolve this under your tongue. It’ll help with the pain.”
I cracked open my lips and lifted my tongue enough for him to place it there himself. The medication tasted bitter as it sizzled into my palate. It was a welcome flavor in exchange for the Lychan blood I had been trying not to think about.
“Working?” he asked after a minute, his expression softening slightly when I nodded.
A warm rush of relaxation swept through my body, the sharp sensations disappearing entirely. The devastating pain in my face quelled a little. Even my dissociation faded enough for me to skirt on the edge of reality as opposed to clocking out of it in its entirety.
“Let’s clean up. Are you alright with doing that together?” His eyes locked with my own, a silent demand to answer honestly.
I nodded. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Never.” He began to unbutton his shirt with urgency. It was tossed to the ground, quickly joined by his pants.
Graysen slowly, carefully, used his lethal claws to undress me. He then lifted my arms to hug his neck, supporting underneath me as he stood. I didn’t have the strength to wrap my legs around his waist, they dangled limply by his sides.
He stepped us into the tub, the water rising to the edge as he sat down with me straddling his lap.
There was just enough space on either side of him for my feet to lay flat against the porcelain tub.
My head felt heavy, and my thoughts were muffled as the medicine kicked in.
I rested my ear to my shoulder and stared ahead, noting a sizable gash on the front of his shoulder.
“You’re hurt,” I muttered groggily, instinctively reaching out to touch his bleeding injury. My fingertips began to tingle as they approached the clotted wound with intent to heal.
“I’m fine.” He gently grasped my wrist, pinning my arm to my chest. “Save your energy for your own healing. Let me take care of you.”
Unable to resist the lulling pull of the drug, I nodded my head.
He wrapped an arm around my back, pressing his palm between my shoulder blades. “Let’s wet your hair. Lean back, I’ve got you.”
Graysen dipped me backward until I felt the water’s edge tickling my forehead. I felt his fingers along my scalp, scrunching my hair and combing through its ends. My body relaxed into his reliable hold, and my eyes closed as he lifted me back up into a seated position.
He worked silently, first lathering my hair, then scrubbing every red flake of crusted blood from my sickly olive skin.
Once he finished scouring me, he began washing himself.
I cracked my eyes open as he dumped a dollop of soap onto his collarbone and began working it up his neck towards his jaw.
The lather turned a burnt orange around his emblem before he pooled water into his hands and streamed it down his face and throat, repeating until it ran clear.
The less our skin was caked in gore, the darker the bath water became.
I tried not to think about it. He held me to his chest and leaned forward to drain the tub.
I pressed into him, seeking the comfort of his heat as my wet skin shivered against the air.
My breasts were squeezed tightly against his chest, my thighs hugged his sides, and my face buried into his neck.
The smell of a benign campfire was returning, and I greedily sucked it down.
“I shouldn’t have let you see that,” he said as a fresh batch of clean water began to rise around us. “I should have taken you home and let Mykie handle them. I’m sorry.”
“I was so scared,” I murmured into his throat.
“I know.” One hand held the back of my head and the other stroked the small of my back. “I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you.”
“I just want you to hold me.”
“Trust me, my Little Fae, I am reluctant to ever let you leave my arms again.”