My breath comes fast and tight. I shake my head again, teeth clenching. “It’s fine.”
Ozias looks at the wound again, then gives me a pointed look. “It’s not.”
I’m silent, trying to work out an argument that will win me this.
His head tilts. “Have you had stitches before?”
I give him a hard look. “Plenty of times.”
“You have piercings.”
“So you’ve noticed.”
His smile is placating. “So it’s not a fear of needles.”
“It’s a fear of having a needle put in my flesh over and over while a tiny slip of cotton slides in and out ofthatwound, across a wound that already fucking hurts.” My eyes flash, hot and wild. “But I guess you’ve never had to go through this particular torture.” And then I think I shouldn’t have had to, either.
He’s silent, not biting at my argument, or even rising to the bait.
“Can’t you heal this with magic?” I implore.
“Minor wounds we can. This, unfortunately, is no minor thing.”
A silent scowl remains perched on my mouth.
“I’ll dull the pain,” he promises.
I shake my head, looking away at the rows of jars alongthe wall, a sneer wrinkling my nose. “Just do it.”
Ozias waits a beat, then comes in close, settling himself between my knees. I snap my attention back to him. “What are you doing?”
Face close to mine, Ozias leans in, his smell all cedar and sun and mist. “Distraction.” He holds up a strip of leather to my lips. “Bite.”
I open my mouth and he slides it between my teeth, thumb brushing against my lips before he moves on to the other supplies he’s spread around me. He uses a clean towel and basin of water to wash and wipe the wound, then spreads an astringent ointment on the cut that stings, the wound pulsing to life. I’m beginning to think he put the leather between my teeth so I couldn’t curse him during this bit, even as I gratefully bite down on the strip. Another ointment goes next, his hand hovering over the wound, heat radiating from his hand to my skin and within moments, the area is numb.
Then he picks up the needle and thread and my skin prickles with the beginnings of sweat.
“Breathe,” he reminds me, looking up at me from the wound. “Maybe you can try meditating through this.”
“Maybe you can try fucking off,” I say, the crass words coming out mumbled and warbled, but his deep, throaty laugh tells me he understood well enough.
“Ready?”
“No.” Again, the word is muffled.
“Me either.” Then he’s going to work, the needle slipping into my skin, the sting muted from the numbing ointment and his magic, but the pressure is still there and it still hurts. I’m glad I have the leather to bite on, even if it’s only to ease my anxiety. I try meditating as he suggested, even as my jaw locks down tight on the leather between my teeth. Ozias makes quick work of the stitches, neat and tidy, even with one hand doing the job. I help him tie the thread off at the end, though my hands are quaking. When it’s done, I drop the leather out of my mouth, licking my lips to bring them back to life.
Ozias catches the motion, eyes darting across mymouth, before trailing down my torso to my thigh. “Done.”
I sigh, the sound shaky and rough edged. I reach for the bandages to wrap it, though my hands are still unsteady.
“I’ll do it,” Ozias says, and with my body feeling utterly depleted, I don’t have the sense to argue. But I should have. I really should have, because next thing I know, Ozias is sinking to his knees between my legs and the sight of him there makes me weak and wanting. He carefully scoops up my injured leg, hooking my knee over the shoulder of his injured arm and I have to lean back on my hands to maintain my balance. His eyes don’t leave mine as he takes the bandage and begins winding it around my leg with his one hand. It’s loose at first, but he manages to tighten it as he goes around and around my thigh, the backs of his knuckles brushing my skin, each pass like a flame to dry grass.
When it’s fully wrapped, he leans in, lips skimming the inside of my thigh, and takes one piece of the fabric between his teeth while his hand holds the other end of the bandage. He looks up at me from beneath the fan of his dark lashes as he pulls the fabric tight with fingers and teeth. His exhale is warm across my skin, skimming up my legs, all the way to my center. His eyes go molten, and I have the same sensation I did when he flew me away from Dyeus.
Ozias leans back, but my leg is still hooked over his shoulder. “How do you feel?”
Aroused, my mind says, but I try to stop the thought and the echo of that word from pulsing through my body. We’re injured, we’re tired, and he’s not made a move or mention. What we did before had a clear purpose. If I asked for something now, it would be pure indulgence and completely selfish. He may be draconem, but he can still feel pain, and I can’t imagine the agony he must be in right now. I clear my throat, voice coming out an octave too low. “Fine.”
