“Where else?”
“I think there’s a wound on my back. And…” He sighed. “There’s another. But it’s fine.”
“Let me look at your back first.”
He shifted, allowing me to move behind him.
I sucked in a breath. A deep cut ran along his spine, surrounded by fresh bruises. Faint marks of older wounds littered his skin, some nearly faded, others etched into his form. I lifted a hand, tracing one of the bruises lightly with my fingers. Varyth shuddered.
“Isara.”
I couldn’t tell if my name was a warning or something else entirely.
I dipped another cloth into the warm water, cleaning the wound, careful not to press too hard. The injury on his back was deep, and like the first, the edges were already knitting together with that preternatural fae healing. Nevertheless, it needed care.
“Still think this isfine?” I asked, featherlight. “Because you’re shaking, Varyth.”
The silence from him was louder than any roar.
My fingers moved with deliberate care across his skin. The firelight cast dancing shadows over his back, highlighting every curve of muscle.
I cleaned the wound methodically, my breath steady and measured, though my heart was anything but. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on me—my hands on his bare skin, his breaths stuttering subtly whenever my fingers strayed from the task at hand.
Water droplets traced paths down his spine, catching the golden lamplight. I watched, transfixed, as one slipped lower, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.
I swallowed. My mouth had gone dry.
Focus. Breathe. Move.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the healing salve, uncorking the bottle with a pop that was too loud in the silence between us.
The ointment’s herbal scent was sterile and medicinal. I hesitated for just a heartbeat before applying it to the wound on his back, my touch as light as I could manage. Varyth’s muscles tensed beneath my fingers, a nearly imperceptible shudder running through him.
When I was satisfied with my work on his back, I gathered my supplies and moved around to face him once more.
“You said there’s another injury,” I folded the words into something soft, hoping they’d land the same way. “Can I take a look?”
“It’s fine. I’ll manage.”
“You hadn’t even cared for these ones properly, so I don’t believe you.”
“It’s on my leg. My thigh.” The words dragged from him, as though saying them aloud was somehow worse than the wound itself.
I blinked, my cheeks warming. “I’m still going to take a look.”
Varyth scowled, clearly debating whether he could refuse outright. “Isara?—”
“I’ll wait as long as you make me, but I need to take a look.” I crossed my arms. “So, you might as well take your pants off, because they’re coming off one way or another.”
“You know, there are far subtler ways to get a male undressed.”
Heat flared up my neck. I fought the urge to shove him.
“Grow up.”
He let out a low huff, but his amusement didn’t fully disappear. Still, he moved to stand, bracing a hand against the back of the chair.
“Are you able to do this yourself?” I asked, watching the tightness in his jaw.
