“That waspassion. That wasdesire. That was meredropsof blood spared for you and by you. I have abeastinside me, Nephele, and far more than a cut across the tip of my finger. I cannot risk tempting my wolf like that. If I hurt you… If I lost control…” He shakes his head. “I’ll heal on my own. It might take longer than usual, but Iwillheal. We’re not discussing theother optionany further.”
“Oh really?” I fold my arms, hands balled into fists, and raise my eyebrows toward my hairline. “Because you say so? I hear the worry in your voice, you know. And in your silence. Your godly power isn’t answering, your beast is harder to control than you hoped, and your ability to heal is not improving. If not part of the curse, these things would be getting better. Not worse. It might serve you well to at least try. I don’t know what the curse wants from us or what it’s doing to us, but you need strength. If Thamaos launches another attack before we find a way out of here, you certainly need to be whole, and I assure you, strength can be found inme. You just have to take it.”
He turns back to the fire, face hard. I’m not sure what strikes me then. What makes me need to return us to bickering, bantering fools so badly that I become brazen, but I do.
“I know one part of you that functions just fine. Actually, I’m not sure there’s a moment when it isn’t functioning, except perhaps now, when I finally wouldn’t mind it.”
His tight face softens just the slightest but remains expressionless. “Only you would make such a coquettish quip to change the subject.” Once more, he looks up at me, eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps you’re just trying to get what you want.”
My skin flashes hot. “And what do I want, exactly? Are you certain you know?”
Neri slips his hand across his side and stands. Though the effort makes him clench his jaw, he takes a shallow breath and straightens to his full height until he’s looming over me.
His usual wicked grin is absent, but he still tries to meet me halfway. “Oh, I’m certain. I smell your want even now. You want me, of course. Naked.”
I raise a brow, relieved to hear a bit of teasing after so much coldness and seriousness. “Too right. Shirtless anyway.” I cross to the small table and pat the chilled wood. “Come on. Let me at least have a look. I can handle it. And wedoneed you well, sooner rather than later.”
He hesitates, but like the frost quickly melting from the room, the chilly exterior he erected at my mention of helping him by letting him drink from me begins to fade. Slowly, he joins me and slides onto the table, the wood groaning beneath his weight.
Glancing at my hands in the firelight, I cringe at the gore dried to my skin. “We need water to clean up before we do anything.”
I grab the kettles hanging from the hearth and head for the door to gather snow. Minutes later, I have two pots of hot water and several strips of linen for cleaning cloths, torn from one of my shirts. I also retrieve a sewing kit from my pack and locate two deep dish pans and a lump of soap so we can wash our hands without dirtying a kettle of water. We get right to it, scrubbing and washing until our hands are clean.
I change out the water, and as Neri washes his face, I stare at his bloody shirt.
“The fabric has dried to the injury,” I tell him. “Removing your tunic might hurt.”
Without a word, he reaches for the hem and rips the shirt over his head. He grunts, but that’s the only signal to pain.
“I’ve endured worse,” he says. “Believe me.”
“I’m sure. But next time, warn me.”
I won’t say why, though I think he knows. I’m sure he can sense my heart beating harder as I begin cleaning the freshly bleeding wound, going through several cloths to absorb the seepage.
“It’s not as deep as I thought,” I say, carefully inspecting. “I can try to sew it shut, but I fear it’ll be difficult with all this blood. We must stop the bleeding and perhaps try again in a few hours.”
I rub the back of my hand across my brow. I’m so exhausted, and I feel lightheaded. The fact that the thought of licking my fingers is a consideration that’s anywhere near entering my mind makes me want to cry. I haven’t had time to sit with this curse's implications. That blood is now theonlything I hunger for and will possiblyeverhunger for.
Save for the god sitting before me.
Neri touches my face, his eyes tender. “Wash your hands and go look in my pack for a pair of sleeping trousers.”
I frown, but I do it.
When I return, he takes my dagger and shreds the pants into long strips that he begins wrapping around his torso, atop a thick stack of the torn linen from earlier, placed right over the wound.
I help him, standing between his legs, wrapping him up tight until we’ve used every last piece from his trousers.
As I tuck the end of the final piece behind the others, Neri rests his hand on my hip. I straighten, realizing how close we are.
With his other hand, he takes one of the smaller pieces of linen from the table, dips it into the still-warm water, and begins cleaning my face with gentle, short strokes.
Instinctively, I flinch and give an embarrassed gasp. “I must look a sight.”
I try to take the cloth from him, but he stops me, gripping my wrist lightly as he stares into my eyes.
“You cared for me. Let me care for you.”
