He peers up at me, and thankfully, a small smile quirks his lips. “Worried for my bits, are we?”
I take his hand and help him sit up. Bloody as we both are, and even though I have to tamp down my need, I lean in and kiss him. Just a soft kiss. A press of our cold lips. I need to feel him and let him feel my relief that he’s here.
“I’m worried aboutallof you,” I say when I pull back. “But the bits especially. They’re lovely bits.”
With those whiskey eyes bright, his grin widens, just a little, and he slides his hand into my hair. “I’m glad to hear you think so. Now let’s get to that cabin.”
* * *
The cabin Nerisaw from a distance when he last visited this wood with Alexus and Finn is a modest dwelling. More like a hunting shelter. Best we can tell, it’s empty of people and it has a roof and a chimney, which is enough for tonight.
Neri and I stare at a stack of chopped firewood near the main door, but it’s half-covered in a snow drift like the rest of the cabin, including the door.
“I can dig our way in,” I say, fully aware that he cannot help me. Orshouldnot help me, at least. He has to be weak after the battle he just fought, and he’s still bleeding.
The moment I begin the work, he stalks around the cabin and, after abangrattles the night, returns with a brow arched high. “I found a window. Broke the shutter clasp. Bit easier than digging, little bird.”
I toss the skinny piece of wood I was using as a shovel aside and roll my eyes at myself for not thinking to look for a window. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m tired.”
He doesn’t even chuckle as I grab an arm full of firewood from the top of the stack near the door and stalk past.
“I would never,” he says.
After dumping three armloads of firewood into the cabin, I force him to enter first so I can help him. He’s so big that his wide shoulders barely fit. Once he finally squeezes through, though, I toss our packs inside and slip across the window frame with ease, landing on my feet in the darkness.
Neri closes the shutters and wedges a small, flat piece of wood in the broken hardware to hold them closed. I’m immediately thankful for the shelter from the wind. Unfortunately, the small cabin is as cold and frozen inside as outside.
Pretending not to notice Neri wincing from the pain in his side, I drop our packs on the plank floor and stifle a sigh at the release of weight I refused to let him help carry. But he seems to want to be useful even now, and though I would rather him just sit down and let me tend to things, I know he won’t.
He grabs several pieces of wood from the floor and, with a slight limp in his step and another wince, kneels by the hearth, stacking the logs. “Can you work some magick on this wet wood and search for a tinder box?” he asks. “There has to be one.”
Weeping water from wood is a small task. Afterward, I hunt in the darkness, worried I might not find anything. But when my fingers flutter over a cold metal case atop the mantle, my worry is relieved.
Neri lets me start the fire, not a word shared between us. He’s been too quiet since we left the clearing, slipping into long stretches of deep thought. His mind is in turmoil over this curse and Thamaos and the wraiths, as mine is, but he’s shut me out for now while he works through things, I suppose. I try to respect his boundaries the way he has tried to respect mine.
Once a spark finally catches, and flames take hold, I stand with my hands over the fire, soaking the rising warmth into my bones. Neri remains on his knees at the hearth’s edge, eyes bright as he stares into the firelight.
We stay like that for several minutes as the heat begins thawing the room, until I can bear the silence no longer. Odd that as much as I have despised Neri’s arrogant mouth these last days, I desperately want to hear his voice right now. Even one of his lewd remarks would do. Anything to shatter the brittle quiet.
I turn my back to the fire to assess our lodgings more closely. My stomach tightens at the sight of a single bed, large enough for one person, something we’ll have to worry about later. There’s also a lone oaken table, just big enough to sustain the weight of a brawny god while I perform a quick surgery on his injured side.
If I can bear it, and if he will let me.
His blood reminds me of an earthy, rich wine, the flavor a little sweet on the tongue. It tortured me in the clearing while he dressed, it tortured me while we walked to this hovel, and it will torture me when I must come face to face with it. That’s all I’ve thought about for the last hour. Still, it must be done.
“You should let me tend your wound. Perhaps sew the gash shut unless you want to try the other option. I have the necessary tools in my pack. I can at least clean up the damage.”
Too many more wordless moments pass. “Other option?”
I face him, clutching my elbows against the cold. “After having ingested blood, your finger healed. It could help you now.”
His forehead pulls down in the middle. “You’re suggesting I drink from you?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Better me than some wild animal, no? That we’d have to hunt for? You tasted my blood in the reading room. And now I’ve tasted yours. I know it heals. I know it gives strength. Like it or not, the curse the grove placed on us has to do with blood.”
“That it may. But I can’t feed from you, Nephele. I won’t. Curse or no curse.”
“Why not?” I ask, genuinely curious. “It could ease your pain. And it isn’t like we haven’t already done it. You fed me and enjoyed it. You kissed me and tasted it, and I know you relished it.”
