“Riordan!” Wade cried out, rushing over to him. “You’re hurt!”
The cut along his ribs ached, and he knew without needing to look that the skin around the wound would be bubbling up like a bad burn. “I’m all right.”
Wade made a face. “You know, when my pack says dumb shit like that, I don’t believe them, so I’m not going to believe you.”
Riordan gently grabbed Wade’s wrist, giving it a careful squeeze. “Not the time. You killed a fae in public.”
Wade scowled. “Do you think I’d let the asshole hurt you?”
“No. Never. But Wade, someone probably saw that.” The Harborwalk wasn’t empty, and while it wasn’t peak tourist season, someone had to have seen the attack.
Wade shook his head, his other hand already tugging at Riordan’s shirt. “No one ever sees me if I don’t want them to these days. Let me look at your wound.”
“After we get out of here.” Riordan let go of Wade and shoved himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the burning pain that erupted along his ribs with every brush of his T-shirt against the wound. Such a shallow cut would be ignorable if it hadn’t come from a blade made of iron.
“Are you like a werecreature where you shift and the wound goes away?” Wade asked as he scrambled to his feet.
Riordan hesitated before nodding. “Similar, yes. But it’s harder to heal from iron.”
A brief flash of incandescent rage swept over Wade’s eyes, turning them gold for half a second. “I should’ve eaten the bastard.”
Riordan really shouldn’t have felt so pleased about that reaction. “It would’ve been better if you’d left him alive. We could have questioned him.”
Wade scoffed. “In my experience, people like that fae don’t ever talk when cornered. It’s not worth the headache. He was probably working for Niall.”
“Making assumptions won’t help us.”
Wade sidled in close on Riordan’s good side, and Riordan took the opportunity to sling his arm over Wade’s shoulders. He didn’t really need the assistance, but he wasn’t going to deny himself the chance to hold Wade close. “It’s not an assumption. Lady Caith knows what pack I belong to, and she knows the alliances we brokered before the Battle of Samhain that brought Brigid into the fight. She won’t go against me, which means she won’t go against you or Ella because she knows doing that will piss me off. That leaves Niall the bastard.”
Riordan couldn’t fault his reasoning. “Heisa bastard.”
“Yup. Now, let’s get you home.”
Luckily, the wound wasn’t deep or bleeding very much. Riordan didn’t leave a blood trail back to the car or stain the leather once Wade deposited him in the seat. The ache of the cut and the iron burn was impossible to ignore. Riordan gritted his teeth during the entire drive back home in South Boston while Wade chatted away at him, worried and nervous in equal measure it seemed like.
They were almost home when Riordan finally gave in to his own desire to calm Wade down by reaching over to settle his hand on Wade’s thigh. The younger man cut off midsentence, head snapping around to stare at him with wide eyes.
“Watch the road,” Riordan cajoled in a low voice through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
He’d be better once he slathered the wound with the salve he and his siblings kept in their first aid kit. A first aid kit that Saoirse met them with at the door once they finally got inside the house, having been warned in advance by a text from Wade.
“Niall’s trying to murder you now,” Saoirse said, her face pale and eyes haunted.
“I think it was a warning,” Riordan grunted as Wade deposited him on the living room couch with easy strength.
“Some warning. Get your shirt off. Donal’s bringing down your skin.”
Riordan was going to take his shirt off the normal way, but Wade did it for him through sheer expediency by grabbing the collar and tearing the fabric down to the hem. “Hey!”
“It was ruined anyway,” Wade said, staring with narrowed eyes at the wound now on display.
Riordan glanced down at his chest, wincing at the slashing burn crawling across his rib cage. The touch of iron was never easy for fae to bear. Those that lived in cities learned to ignore the muffling sense of being surrounded by what amounted to an iron jungle. But touching iron was not something fae did willingly, and the blackened, blistered wound cutting over his ribs was why.
“Hold still,” Saoirse warned, already unscrewing the jar that held the magicked healing balm they paid a pretty price for. She slathered the cream over his wound, and the hideous heat of it eased. The pain became something ignorable for the moment, and he let out a thankful sigh.
Donal came into the living room, eyeing Riordan worriedly. “The tub is ready.”
