“That was not your decision to make,” she snapped, lips twisting with anger. He tried not to look, now was not the time to get distracted by her mouth. “I could have made it to him if you hadn’t stopped me, he might still be alive.”
Keeran had been prepared for tears, had been trying to decide how best to comfort her as she processed her loss. He had never, in all the scenarios that had played out in his head, imagined she would blame him.
“I saved your life,” he said, unapologetically. “If I hadn’t tried to stop you, you’d both be dead. Actually, I’ve saved your life twice, and so far, all I’ve got by way of thanks is a bruise between my legs the size of a watermelon. Was it really necessary to put your whole weight into it?”
That wasn’t strictly true. He’d healed already, but she wasn’t to know that. She mustn’t know that.
“You think this is funny?” Aelia stood, towering over him, and he tried not to think about how close she was standing to him. Much as he liked being on his knees before her, he chose to stand too, rising to tower over her instead.
Her eyes widened a little, as if she’d forgotten just how big he was, but she didn’t let it deter her.
“Get out,” she yelled, pointing at the door with a shaking finger.
“I don’t think it’s funny.” He ignored her, not wanting to leave her like this. “I’m sorry for last night, I’m sorry for what happened and for everything that you lost. But I’m not, and never will be, sorry for saving you.”
“You arrogant, interfering, self-righteous prick.” Her whole body began to tremble, her anger seeping out of every pore. “What gives you the right to make that decision for me? Who do you think you are, that you think I need your help deciding what I should and shouldn’t do? I don’t even know your name, and you think I need you to save me?”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. He watched the anger slip from her face, the anguish that replaced it breaking his heart. He went to reach for her, longing to somehow ease some of her pain, but she recoiled from him, tears welling in her eyes.
“Get out,” she yelled. “Get out, get out, get out.”
Keeran took a step back, the relief in her expression as he did cutting right through him. She didn’t want him here; she couldn’t make it any clearer. His gaze dropped to the floor, still not quite believing just how badly he’d misjudged the situation. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
He paused in the hallway, hearing her break down into unrestrained sobs. Realising he might be pushing his luck, he ducked into the kitchen and pulled out the pencil and paper he’d discovered earlier when looking for the things he’d needed to dress her wounds. He quickly scrawled a note for her.
He placed a tub containing the poultice he’d got her on the kitchen counter, next to the instructions he’d written for how often to apply it, before making a beeline for the door.
This time he didn’t hesitate as he left.
CHAPTER SIX
Aelia cried until she felt like she didn’t have a drop of moisture left in her body. Her grief consumed her.
She wasn’t sure what was harder to bear: that Otis and Mirra were dead, or that Fenrir was in a cage headed gods only knew where. The night played over and over in her mind, images of Otis’s last moments suffocating in his own blood, and of Mirra clawing at the arm that choked her to death seeming to be burned into her retinas, playing on repeat.
Her only distraction was the pain. When she found the strength to compose herself, she lifted her top and nearly choked when she saw the extensive array of colours decorating her skin. She frowned, her stiff neck complaining as she tried to look closer at the yellows and greens and purples that surrounded the assorted cuts and gashes. Everything looked old, the bruises already yellowing and the cuts scabbed over nicely.
The man whose name shestilldidn’t know had said he’d been sorry for last night, meaning she hadn’t been out for that long, but the bruises looked days old. Days and days.
Finding it hard to find the will to care, she dropped her shirt and got back on her feet. She couldn’t stay in here a moment longer, not when reminders of Otis’s life lay everywhere shelooked. His pipe sat on the table, his jumper slung over the back of the sofa, his favourite liquor sitting on the side table in its decanter.
She definitely needed to get out.
The stairs took her some time as she half dragged herself up by the handrail, her legs shaking with the pain, but she finally made it up to the shower.
The water rushed out of the shower head, the pressure hitting into her like hot needles, and she groaned as her muscles relaxed under the torrent. It seemed like the water pressure had returned to normal; perhaps they’d had heavy rain whilst she was unconscious. Again, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Aelia was hardly aware of drying herself, slinging on whatever clean clothes were closest before leaving the treehouse as quickly as her aching limbs could carry her.
The village centre was a mess.
Aelia picked her way through the collapsed decorations, the charred lanterns that had been knocked to the ground, the patches of blood soaking into the dirt. Others milled around her, already starting to clear up the debris that littered the floor.
She hadn’t seen a single human since she’d left her house.
“Hey, Moira.” Aelia stopped beside a woman she knew from work. Although she was older, with more grey in her hair than colour, she was a force to be reckoned with if you got on her bad side. Her second form was that of a Boar, making her stronger than most of the other prey artemians who earned their keep logging the forests. Aside from Aelia, she was the strongest in their team by a long shot.
“Aelia. Glad to see you survived. I was worried when I didn’t see you last night, thought they might have taken you too.” Moira stopped filling a bag with rubbish and straightened, putting her hands on her hips and stretching backwards. She looked exhausted.
