Page 82 of The Wolf Lord's Mate

"I decided to put my arm in there," I said, my voice muffled into Nathaniel's butter-soft shirt, avoiding the scratchy wool of his waistcoat this time, "I made that decision, Nathaniel, to do as he said.

I could have said no, I could have tried to stall, I could have run off, but I didn't. Because—because I was afraid of what he might do if I did not do as he said.

Because I know what happens to humans who disobey cruel Wolves.

So I might not have deserved it, but I did it so that I did not have to suffer something far worse. "

I choked out the last few words, my throat constricting to fight back the yet unfallen tears from my eyes.

Pressing my face harder against Nathaniel's chest, I took a deep inhale of his scent, managing to keep the tears from spilling.

It was merely the adrenaline wearing off; the fear of that which might have happened rather than anything else.

Standing there, I had gone numb, my mind shutting itself off, but now everything was flooding back in. Gratitude mixing with guilt, relief mingling with fear—all of it was still settling into my body.

Nathaniel let me collect myself, carrying me silently down the hall and through the sitting room into his bedchambers, the mechanism on the door clicking shut behind us.

I had imagined what Nathaniel's bedchambers might look like many times, rolling the thoughts over and over in my mind in order to distract from the temptation such intimate quarters offered.

Something lavish had often been my greatest guess, grand and gleaming, with silks and velvet befitting a Lord; or perhaps something dark, deep oaks and black feathered curtains, low light where he might brood and stir on his own.

I was wrong on all accounts.

The room Nathaniel carried me into reminded me of the cozy cabin we had only just left, his bed made of a similar amalgamation of furs, blankets, and soft things forming a nest of sorts atop a bed large enough to fit three fully grown Wolves.

Candles burned along the walls, a matching blaze in a well-tended fireplace made of brick and polished silver.

A small writing desk and an empty vanity sat before the darkened doorway of his closet, the shadowed interior spacious and leading to what I assumed must be his dressing area.

A copper tub sat in the corner, water still in the basin, the steam long gone but the faint scent of lavender sill floating in the air.

Nathaniel set me down gently on the edge of the bed, and kneeled in front of me to slip off my shoes, his hand squeezing my ankle before setting each foot down with tender care.

"Let me see your arm, love, I need to know how bad it is." Nathaniel's gaze swam with a desperate sort of devotion, so much so that I could feel it in my chest; a swelling at the very center of me that was made purely of Nathaniel's affection, so strong that it nearly knocked the wind out of me.

"It's nothing, really, it would heal on its own," I said, "I moved quickly, as quick as I could."

"Darling, I—" Nathaniel dipped his head, his brow twisting in a knot, "—Just because something can go away on its own does not mean that it should. I will see that my mate is cared for, and cared for to the best of my abilities."

Nathaniel spoke with a great deal of restraint, but even he could not hide the simmering anger that still lived inside of him. There was no mistaking what he had said earlier; if I asked him to kill that Wolf for me then he would, and he would do it without a moments hesitation.

I offered my arm to Nathaniel, every muscle in his body tensing as he took in the damage.

It certainly could have been worse, the tender skin of my forearm blistered from the flames, and soot mixed with crimson smears of blood from a pricked blister that had already begun to dry into a dull, dusty copper.

Gently peeling the burnt fabric away from my pinking skin, I held in a wince, not wanting to give Nathaniel any more of a reason to panic.

The male was clearly holding himself together by a very thin string, his muscles rolling under his shirt from how tense he was, hands held in tight grips at his sides as if he did not know what to do with himself; reach for me, or punch the wall, or storm back into the Wolf's guest room and make good on the promise he had made me.

Reaching up with my uninjured arm, I placed my hand on Nathaniel's abdomen, the muscles tightening beneath my fingers.

"Please," I met his gaze, trapped in the tenderness that lived in his eyes, "Help me with this?"

Nathaniel swallowed hard and nodded, a breath easing out of him as he turned towards the writing desk, his posture normalizing now that I had given him a direction.

Returning with a small capped pot, Nathaniel sat beside me, the bed dipping under his bulk and leaning my body towards his. Unscrewing the top, he scooped out some kind of cream salve, the mixture smelling faintly of mint and chamomile.

"This should help keep the burn from getting infected," Nathaniel said, "And soothe a bit of the pain, but if it's not enough, I can make you some Willow tea."

I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth as Nathaniel applied the salve to my arm, his fingers grazing the surface only enough to coat the skin with salve. Despite how gentle he was being, there was no avoiding the biting sting of his touch against my burned skin.