Grim didn’t even deny his plans to kill her. He was peering at her like she had lost her mind.
“You forget, husband, that I’ve lived through this before with you. Every step. Clearly, some things stick every time.” Him, plotting against her. Him, saving her anyway. She tilted her head at him and his incredulous expression. “I have to believe this ending will be the same too.”
“Death, you mean?”
She shook her head, but that made her dizzy and she groaned. “No. Death wasn’t the end. It was just the start, really.”
She knew she wasn’t making sense. She couldn’t keep her thoughts in order. They kept slipping out in all directions, as if the connections in her brain had been severed.
His gaze broke from her face as if he was snapping out of a trance of some kind. He started walking again, tearing down the hall in long strides. He must have gotten impatient because then they were portaling...
She was in his room.
He set her down immediately, as if her touch burned him. She sank to the ground, her dress pooling on the floor. She held her stinging hands out in front of her. They really were a bloody mess.
“Here,” Grim said, throwing vials and bandages at her. He even tossed her a needle and thread. Supplies he must have found for himself, when he was trying to heal his arm.
She stared down at the tools, her mind still numb. Getting the pieces out of both of her hands would be complicated...and she would almost certainly need to be stitched.
She looked up at him from the ground. He leaned against his bedpost, his arms crossed over his chest. He wouldn’t help her until she asked.
Bastard.
She didn’t want to have to plead, not like this, but she was worried she would do more harm than good if she healed herself in this state. Finally, she whispered, “Will you please help me?”
He tilted his head at her. “Eager to be back on my lap, Wildling?”
Isla ignored the flash of feeling at his words. Even in this state, even in this situation, she had pride. “Never mind,” she said. “I can do it myself.” And she could. She’d healed herself plenty of times before she had ever met him. She would find a way to do it, even now, while her head was spinning.
He just stood and watched.
She winced as she removed the first piece of glass, and it clinked against the floor. This was harder and more painful on her own, but she refused to beg him for help again. She really had forgotten how damned infuriating he could be.
Finally, all the glass was out, so she poured the alcohol on both her hands. Her body tensed at the burn. She cursed loudly.
Grim raised a brow at her. “You have a dirty mouth,” he murmured.
“You have no idea,” she breathed. She watched his eyes widen in surprise for a fraction of a moment. She held his gaze, as if in challenge. “But you did...once.”
He swallowed.
She looked away, grabbing the needle to weave it through her skin. She cursed again and ignored Grim’s deep chuckle. When she was finished with one hand, she cut the thread with her teeth. She heard Grim swallow again, and found his eyes glued to her mouth. He dragged his gaze back up to hers. “How do you know how to heal so well?” he asked.
She resumed her work. “Same way as you,” she countered.
She stole glances at him as her statement washed over him. As he considered that they might have had a brutal childhood in common. She had told him before, about both being locked in rooms and trained, but it seemed he hadn’t considered the implications. His eyes hardened in understanding, but he didn’t say a word. She kept stitching, but her vision was starting to go in and out. It hurt to focus. She winced as the needle pierced the wrong spot. As her grip faltered.
Apparently, her work wasn’t clean or fast enough for his liking.
“Here,” he said, the word full of impatience, as he pushed off the bedpost. He kneeled before her roughly, but his touch was featherlight as he gently put her hand in his. Her palm looked so much smaller than his. He took the needle and began stitching her himself.
She took the opportunity to pore over his face while he worked. His eyes were narrowed in concentration.
“What?” he demanded.
His features started to blur. She blinked them back into focus. Her mind felt loose, unraveled. “We always start off as enemies,” she said. “Trained to hate each other. We lie and steal and fight. Until we learn we aren’t so different. That we’re...we’re on the same side.” She swallowed. “You hurt me with your words. Then...you heal me.” Her laugh was half-crazed. “It’s always like this.”
He frowned. “You say that as if this isn’t just thesecondtime.”
