Page 49 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

My throat burns, but I nod. “ I must.”

His eyes flicker to mine, a displeased turn to his lips.

I inspect them before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

How very forward it is hardly matters—not on this side of Faerie, not after all that has happened.

He lets out a long soft breath that tickles the hair hanging about my face, and I gaze up at him, trying without success to read past the sadness in his gaze.

“ Thank you for saving me tonight,” I whisper.

He cracks a weak smile. “’Twas nothing.”

“ ’Twas to me.”

Another sigh. He’s more soft breaths than words tonight. I cannot blame him—not in such a state.

“ Aidyn,” I say gently, with the tone Una uses on me when I’m being unreasonable. “ Lie down. It’s either that or find one of your own kin to help.”

He wrinkles his nose. “ I cannot.”

“ I know. So I must.”

His shoulders slump. Rather miserably, he turns, and I keep my hand on his side as he lies down on the pillows, mumbling something in that strange singsong language I cannot keep in my mind for more than a few seconds.

His fingers pull a tiny, slim knife like a needle with its sheath from his pocket.

I did not realize it was there. It is silver as his sword blade.

Setting it into the fire, I let it grow hot before placing it aside to cool.

Busying myself with the cloths, the little jars of herbs, and the hot water, I take another sniff at the bitter wine.

My head still hurts, and my muscles are complaining.

I’m ready for quite a long sleep, but my mind is clear enough.

Having nothing better, I use a bit of the wine on both my hands and a cloth dabbed carefully against the wound.

Muscles in his back ripple, but he makes no complaint.

“ Strong stuff,” I mumble, handing him the bottle. “ Want the rest?”

He regards the bottle as if it may bite him, but he takes it and tips the contents into his mouth, rolling back onto his stomach with a noise of displeasure at the taste. I’d laugh if I weren’t looking at the terrible thing that has been causing him pain.

“ I’ll try to be quick about it,” I tell him.

He gives no indication he heard me, eyes closed, a tiny furrow between his eyebrows.

One arm is curled under his head, partially hiding his expression, the other lying under him where I cannot see.

He is not lying fully upon his stomach, but his back is to the fire, so I can see quite well.

The kittens have all returned to their blankets beside the basket, so they’re in no danger of disturbing us.

“ I didn’t know any better,” I tell him, for he confided in me, and I very much and all of a sudden wish to tell him everything.

He has not beguiled me, has never given me any reason not to trust him.

It should be the beginnings of a distraction against the pain.

“ I’d never been in love before. Well, I don’t truly believe it was love.

I was younger, and I’d never had a crush, so that was very likely all that it was.

We were basically children. I still do not precisely know why, but he asked me to show him into Faerie.

It wasn’t such an odd thing to ask. Some of the boys in the village would dare one another across the border, which was silly, and most of them didn’t end up doing it, or they went a ways into the woods, never made it to Faerie, but went in far enough the trees began to look strange and they could claim they did so. So, I thought very little of it.”

The skin is fragile around the piece of claw or tooth buried beneath.

“ I was probably a little proud of myself, actually. He was charming and handsome, and he thought I was special, evidently. So, we snuck out one night, and I meant to take him into Faerie. Just the edge, just for a moment.”

The knife is uncanny and sharp, and I think suddenly of diamonds, though I’ve never seen the stones in person.

“ We never actually made it in. We were talking and getting distracted the whole way. I don’t remember all the details.

It was such an odd, quick thing. I remember leaning against a tree, and he was leaning on me, and we were saying silly things to each other like people do.

I think he probably kissed me, but I don’t remember fully.

It could have been a dream, later that night, while I was hurt. ”

Aidyn makes another soft noise, this one of more pain, but the wound drains. I keep one of the soft cloths against his skin so it doesn’t ruin his blankets.

“ Then something growled in the woods, and I heard three barks. I remember that part very specifically. We’d all heard the tales, of course.

But hearing stories doesn’t mean you recognize when it happens right before your eyes.

So we just stood there, looking around. Maybe if we’d run, it wouldn’t have made a difference, but sometimes I still feel silly for that: just standing there. ”

Aidyn’s breath is less labored than it was, though the pinch remains between his brows.

“ And then they came out of the woods. I remember very little of that part, just that he was afraid, yelling and screaming. And so was I. I fell. Sometimes I think I remember his hands on me, like perhaps he shoved me out of the way in his fear. I don’t know if that’s real either.

For a while after, I wondered if he ever looked back and regretted it, but I don’t think so.

I don’t know which would make me feel better. ”

Dabbing at the wound, I use the tip of the blade to—carefully as possible, as if I’m touching a filament of sugar—pick out the tiny black shape from his skin, knocking it into my hand.

It sits there, a definite tip of what I’d imagine to be a claw, against the scar covering my palm made by the same.

Gently, I hold it over to Aidyn. His eyes flicker open long enough to gaze at it with a curl of his lip.

“ Toss it out the window,” he rasps. “ Not into the fire. Such things should not be burned.”

The window is closed, and I’m still tending to his wound, so I toss it onto the nearest shelf, in the open where it won’t be lost and high enough the kittens can’t wander to it. I’ll dispose of it shortly.

Using another clean cloth and the cooled water, I wash the raw skin as best I can. He still twitches at each administration but doesn’t complain.

“ I don’t know why they didn’t kill me,” I mumble.

“ I’m not even sure they injured me on purpose.

I think one of their claws tangled in my hair—quite a bit of it was broken until my mam had to trim it even.

Maybe they realized I wasn’t whatever they were looking for.

I just remember their eyes and teeth and the way their paws hit the earth.

How their eyes were more intelligent than any person’s.

And I remember waking up at home, my parents and friends quite upset, as you might imagine.

My friends fussed over me for ages, my best friend in particular. She is like a sister to me.”

Selecting the little jar Una gave me, I make a small poultice for the wound, arranging a little pad out of cloth around the edges so it won’t have so much pressure on it.

I will take it out in the morning and rebandage it.

Mam did it for me with blisters and the one time I burned myself rather badly on our big stove, so I hope it’s of some aid.

“ Can you sit?” I ask softly. “ I’ll get a bandage back about you.”

Pressing his hand to the mattress, he moves himself ever so slowly. Sympathy squeezes my chest, and I loop my arm about him as carefully as I can manage, easing him up, still holding the pad of clean cloths in place. He’s larger than me, but I seem to be of some help.

“ I hope you know,” I tell him, since my cheeks feel hot and he is not meeting my eyes, “ that I despise entering the woods with anyone, as you might imagine, and you have tricked me into it on several occasions.”

His lips nearly quirk, and under the circumstances, that is enough.

Despite how he claimed our human remedies are of little help, I dab more onto the few places where the skin has not quite healed over, including where that creature grabbed at his chest and caused him to bleed. As I replace the bandages, I’m grateful I had the forethought to sneak so many in.

“ Why was he visiting you?” he asks. I wasn’t sure he’d truly comprehended my words.

I let out a sigh. “ I don’t know. I think his father wants something from mine. They’re both businessmen. They’re probably just trying to sidle up to me because if I’m not angry, my da won’t be. But I don’t rightfully know.”

“ His manhood should be disposed of.”

I stare at him, open-mouthed, before a half-hysterical laugh bubbles out of my chest. One of the kittens starts at the outburst.

His frown doubles. “’Twas not a joke.”

“ I know,” I nearly cry, face buried in my hands.

I collapse back onto the mattress and giggle.

Aidyn gazes at me severely. Rubbing his middle, he snatches at a fresh shirt folded neatly beside his bed with a finger, taking slow moments to put it back on.

I manage to sit myself up and help him, though his expression only grows more sour.

“ Oh, don’t glare at me! That’s funny .”

If possible, his mouth turns down more. Giggling as I bundle up the old bandages and his ruined shirt and drop them aside where I can wash them later—after sleep —I scramble to think of anything that he might find amusing enough to even out his expression.

“ Well, as I said, that stupid little creature that drinks off emotions followed me into those other woods,” I tell him. “ And you’re right, they’re not very harmful, are they?”

His scowling frown turns into a confused one.

“ I held it down and tried to get it to tell me how to get back to the library. It wouldn’t and threatened to follow me, so I sat on it and used a piece of my dress to tie it up.”

“ Pardon? ”

I shrug. “ I’m sure it’ll get out eventually.”

He stares at me so long I can’t figure out how to read his expression.

Then his lips press together.

I cackle, not caring how ridiculous I sound, while he stares at the wall and tries very hard to maintain his rage.

His shoulders tremble a little. Leaning his face against his palm, he shakes his head, forehead thumping against my chest bone.

Giggling, I loop my arms around his neck while the two of us continue having fits for quite a good while.

“ I wish very much I could have seen such a thing,” he mumbles.

Now that the laughter has faded, I’m very aware of him leaning against me and the way my cheek has been resting against his hair for a time now. Exhaustion tugs at me, and I think about moving, but we’ve managed to balance out leaning against each other.

“ Next time it comes around, I’ll chase it down,” I mumble in return.

“ Hmm.”

When he raises his head, I tip forward a little before righting myself, feeling slightly drunk even though I’m not the one who drank a few mouthfuls of bad faerie wine.

His face hovers before mine, both of us slumped. “ You cannot return tonight. ’Tis too dark.”

I nod. “ I’ll sleep here. I just... have to go back as soon as the sun comes up. My friends are probably having a fright about me. They won’t come into Faerie though.”

His eyes flicker down, coming to rest on my neck, or perhaps my lips. “ Do you feel well?”

“ Tired.”

“ Sleep. It will fix much of it.”

“ Yes. ”

He lowers his face, nose resting between my own and my eye, his skin warm and soft. Even with his coat off, he smells of honeysuckle.

A brush of his lips against mine, like the softest whisper of silk against skin.

Once more, a little longer.

“ Thank you, Flower,” he whispers, such a low breath of a few words.

I tell him the same in return.

He lets out another long soft sigh. My hands manage to find his.

We sit in such a way for a long while before I realize he’s struggling not to lean his weight too greatly against me.

Guiding him back carefully, I ensure he’s lying down before pulling all his blankets over him.

Watching him lie there, tucked up ungracefully in blankets, I push aside the quilts and unbuckle his boots while he makes a noise of protest but cannot sit up to take over the job.

Setting them aside, I tuck his feet back in and smile under the weight of his bright tired glare over the edge of the quilt.

After tossing the little piece of claw out the window and returning the kittens to their basket, I wash my hands and face in what remains of the water, feeling his heavy-lidded eyes on my back. My head and muscles are too heavy for my body. The rest I can deal with in the morning.

Glancing at him, I lie down along the open space on the bed between him and the fire.

Moonlight filters in a few slim fingers past the window glass.

The hearth crackles, but the world is otherwise silent.

The weight of his blankets falls over me, his close warmth seeping through my clothes.

His fingers brush against the back of my neck and remain there.