“If you’re going to stare, you may as well join,” he muttered as he leaned his head against the edge of the tub and shut his eyes.
She forgot he could see in the dark.
Her jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she mumbled, pulling the cover up to her face. “I couldn’t walk over if I wanted to,” she heard herself say.
“Your hands and knees still work.”
An annoyed huff exited her lips, and she forced herself to turn over away from him. “Goodnight, Venari.”
She heard him sigh heavily, and the noise of him pushing himself under the water echoed in the still room. She tried closing her eyes to drift back to sleep, ignoring the movements of the water as he began to wash the blood from his body a few moments later. But it wasn’t much use.
Morning light drifted through the tree canopy a few hours later. A fog settled on the land, creeping its way into the treehouse and hovering on the floor around the bed. The damp mist kissed her skin. She sat up and forced her feet over the side of the bed. As much as she hoped her ankles would allow her to stand upon them on that morning, she could tell by the ache in them that she would not be able to on that day. Her left ankle seemed to be healing a bit quicker than the right. She could actually wiggle that ankle in a circle without her wanting to just cut it off and spare herself of the pain.
She was quickly growing tired of not being able to do anything.
She gripped the crutch Draven had left by the bed in her hand and made herself stand on the left ankle. It almost wilted beneath her, but she forced her weight into her fists and moved just a small step at a time. Eventually, she made it out onto the porch where the warmth of the just rising sun greeted her. A large wooden lounge chair sat in the right corner by the banister, a blanket laid across the back of it. She forced herself over to it and practically fell into its grasp, cursing herself for her injury.
Draven brought her more of the potion a bit later, but he didn’t say much. In fact, she didn’t see much of him through the day. There was an air of sadness resting in the forest through the daylight, as though the night before had been taxing on each of them. Every Hunter had the same darkened expressions upon their faces.
Aydra stayed on the balcony for the entire day, allowing the sun to bask on her skin as it came through the trees, and help aid her ankles back to health. She napped for most of it, and only when darkness fell did she see Draven again.
“Everyone was quiet today,” she said as he sat down across from her at the table.
He lit the pipe in his hands and took a long inhale of the herb—a different one than the two she now knew him to have. His head leaned back against the tree at his back, and the smoke filled the air with his exhale.
“The eighth day of the Deads is always the hardest,” he admitted softly.
“How many were born?” she dared to ask.
Draven’s jaw tightened, and she saw him grip and release his hand above the table. “Five,” he told her.
“And how many did you bring back?”
His eyes met hers. “Are you always so interested in the dealings of other races’ givers?” he growled.
She didn’t lose her gaze with him, and instead raised a brow. Draven sighed heavily, and his teeth clenched as he tapped a finger on the table. “None,” he finally said. “We brought none back.”
She blinked and felt her chest constrict at his words. “What do you do with them?”
“What do you think?”
She could see the sadness flickering in his pupils.
Her weight shifted in her seat. “And after?”
He ran his hands through his downed hair. “Duarb takes them back from where they came,” he whispered.
Aydra ate the rest of her food in silence, her gaze simply watching him puff on his pipe in a daze, as though she were not even in the room with him. It was only when she finally finished and downed her final bit of wine, that he packed another herb in the pipe, and extended it to her.
She raised a brow at him. “What will this one do to me?” she asked.
His eyes shaded over as he met her gaze. “Let the worries of your days fall into the darkest corner of your core.”
She gave him a full once over, and then she took the pipe from his hand. One inhale and she felt her mind swirl. Her head leaned back onto the wood at her back, and she closed her eyes as the deep sweetness took over and radiated of warmth over her muscles.
“Send me back with this one,” she muttered.
Draven huffed amusedly under his breath and stood from the table. She started to hand the pipe back to him, but he shook his head. “I’ll let that one take you on your own tonight,” he told her.
