“I can’t help it.” He got to his feet and, before Sinclair could protest, scooped him up into his large, strong arms. “Let me have a quick look.”
“Hey, you know I can walk, right? I really am fine. You don’t have to carry me,” Sinclair assured him, feeling silly.
“It’s no trouble.” Mitchel brought Sinclair into the cabin, set him down on a sofa, and knelt in front of him. “Let me see your arms first.”
Cooling dampness at his elbows indicated he’d been bleeding, but they didn’t hurt. Sinclair shoved his shirtsleeves up as high as they would go and presented his arms for inspection.
They weren’t too bad. Surface wounds, scrapes along both wrists and elbows, blood already crusting around the edges.
Mitchel’s big hands were warm on his skin, turning him this way and that, checking every inch of revealed skin. Sinclair held his breath. Mitchel had leaned in so close they’d be sharing air otherwise.
“You were lucky. Could have broken both arms, falling from that height.”
“I’m slightly more durable than a human, but only slightly. A turned vampire wouldn’t have been injured at all. Perhaps I should let myself be bitten.”
“So, why haven’t you?”
Most vampires would have already been undead by his age. He was an oddity. Having avoided this subject once already today, he wasn’t sure he could avoid it again without being rude. “Lots of reasons, but mostly, I like being alive. I don’t know if I’ll like being turned.” He shrugged. His thoughts on the matter were more complicated than that, but he wasn’t ready for this conversation now. Hopefully, that would be enough.
“Let me get a cloth and clean you up.” Mitchel turned toward the kitchen. “I’d like to see those knees too. That’s a lot of blood.”
“If you want me to take off my pants, at least buy me dinner first.”
Mitchel’s cheeks were ruddy when he poked his head back into the room. “Does pizza count?”
“No.”
“Damn.” He returned to the kitchen, and a moment later, water was running. Cabinets opened and closed. Paper towels rustled.
Sinclair took the opportunity to sneak a peek around the cabin he’d been curious about since the day he’d discovered it. Rustic on the inside as well as the outside, the place oozed a sort of peaceful charm Sinclair found captivating. Colorful quilts, worn and soft, draped the furniture. Oil paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. He sat on a well-worn leather sofa that would make a cozy spot to curl up with a book. The only obvious sign of the times was a laptop charging on a small desk in the corner. Otherwise, the place could be mistaken for a homestead in the untamed wilderness.
And it smelled good. The same earthen scent Mitchel carried with him, of dirt and plants, the wind on a rainy day. Home cooking. Pleasant and sweet. Sinclair took a deep breath as Mitchel returned with an assortment of washcloths and bandages.
“Really, I don’t need all this. It’s no big deal.”
“Um, you fell off my roof, Sinclair. Itisa big deal. Hush and be still.”
So he sat passively and let Mitchell clean off the dried blood, first with a wet towel, then with soap, another wet swipe to rinse him off, and finally a dry towel. When Sinclair realized Mitchel meant to wrap his entire arm in gauze, he put a stop to the fussing.
“I have the same natural resistance to bacteria that you do. The bandages aren’t necessary, but thanks. You can rest easy now. I’m all taken care of.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
It was sweet, really, Mitchel’s natural instinct to take care of him as if he were part of the pack. In a way he was. Surely he smelled of the pack, living among them as he did. Ever since he’d put his foot down about their ridiculous kitchen territory dispute, much of the hostility had slipped away, as Mitchel had predicted, and he spent more time in the company of the young wolves. Even to the point of tutoring several.
“Pizza’s in the oven. Mind if I finish up while it cooks?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay, I’ll be quick, and then we’ll have lunch. I promised you pizza, and I’d never go back on such a solemn oath.”
Sinclair watched Mitchel depart. Alone, he released a heavy sigh and tried to relax, but the opposite was happening.
His chest felt tight, and a lingering unease took root at his core. He tugged his sleeves back down. Everything was fine.
But it wasn’t.
