Loren driftedin and out of consciousness, the darkness ebbing and flowing around him. The shadows brushed over his skin, their cool touch dulling the edge of his pain, though never enough to let him sink completely into oblivion.
The sharp bite of antiseptic cut through the haze, the scent of blood and waste mingling with the astringent, sterile tang of something medicinal. When he shifted, stitches pulled at his skin, hidden beneath layers of clean, white bandages. Someone had dressed his wounds, cared for him.
That was unusual—normally they just left him here to bleed and heal on his own.
Footsteps approached. Light, measured. Already familiar, even though he’d only heard them once before.Shewas here. She’d come.
Shadows skittered across the floor as keys grated in the lock, their hissing whispers filling his ears like the roar of waves. The aetherlamp flared to life, blinding him as she stepped through the door. It crashed closed on her heels, making her jump and cast a dark look over her shoulder.
“Barbarians,” she hissed, too quietly for the human at the door to hear. But Loren did.
He laughed, a hoarse, jagged sound he barely recognized. It turned almost immediately into a groan, all the pain rushing back at once.
“Gods—” her silver gaze snapped to his, her eyes wide. “You’re awake.”
Before Loren could even start to formulate a response she was kneeling beside him on the filthy floor, setting her bag down beside her. “Can you sit?”
Loren hadn’t bothered to try. He shifted, bracing his hands against the floor. The cold stone bit into his palms, sending another spike of pain through his ribs. He grimaced, the effort leaving him breathless.
“Don’t—” Araya reached for him, the brush of her fingers like a brand over his frozen skin. “Let me help.”
Her touch was careful. Tentative. She slid her arm around his back and helped ease him upright. Stars flared in his vision, pain lancing through his side as he settled against the wall.
“Goddess…” he hissed. “That hurts.”
“I think you have a broken rib.” Her fingers ghosted over the dark bruise spreading across his side. “Possibly several.”
“Probably.” Loren sucked in a sharp breath. “That tends to happen when you get kicked by a mage wearing iron-shod boots.”
Araya winced. “Sorry,” she said, pulling back quickly, like his words had burned her. She turned away, digging through her satchel. “Here.”
She thrust a battered flask toward him. Loren took it warily, raising it to his nose. Nothing but water—cool and fresh. He drank greedily, washing the taste of blood from his mouth.
“Slowly,” she warned, gently prying the flask from his fingers. “Or you’ll make yourself sick. There’s nothing worse when you have a broken rib.”
She sounded like she knew from experience. What horrors hadshe lived, growing up under human rule? Loren stared at her, the bond humming in his chest. It reveled in her closeness, a wild pull it would be far too easy to give in to. He didn’t realize he was staring until she flushed, her gaze sliding away from his.
“I want to redress your wounds,” she said, rummaging through her bag. “You’ve been unconscious for days?—”
“You were the one who took care of me?” Loren stared as she pulled out fresh white bandages and jars of salve. “You can’t do that. If Shaw finds out?—”
“Jaxon already knows,” she sat back on her heels, studying him. “I told you—he’s my bond. I don’t do anything without him knowing.”
Her bond. Something inside Loren twisted painfully at her words—maybe his soul. Wrapped tightly in the threads that bound them together, it raged at the idea that anyone would dare to claim her—hismate.
“I asked him to authorize warmer clothes for you too,” she continued, oblivious to the storm raging inside him. “Blankets. Clean water and food that a person would actually eat?—”
“I told you not to ask for favors on my behalf,” Loren growled. “I don’t want you paying the price?—”
“What I’m willing to pay is my business.” Araya scowled at him, her face flushed with an emotion he couldn’t read in the dim light.
“You don’t—” He broke off with a hiss as she peeled back one of the bandages on his shoulder, her fingers grazing raw, inflamed skin. “I don’t want you involved in this. You could get hurt—Goddess!” He swore, flinching away. “What kind of Healer are you?”
“I’m not a Healer,” she snapped, sitting back on her heels. “Iama researcher.” She plucked a worn book out of her bag, waving it in his face. “I’ve read up on the basics—now are you going to be picky, or would you prefer to keep bleeding?”
Loren gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit still, his fingers curling into fists against the cold stone beneath him as she returned to examining his wounds. He could tell she was trying to be carefuleven if she was clumsy, her touch gentle as she wiped the inflamed skin with a cool cloth before applying a fresh poultice.
She couldn’t be here. The more time she spent with him, the more likely Jaxon was to figure out the connection between them—if he didn’t already know. This could all be some elaborate plot to break him.
