Caitlin gave him a little nod of approval and left him alone with his mate. His naked, injured, blind mate.
First aid kit. He could handle that. Maybe.
* * *
It was almostnoon before she stirred. Peter had cleaned her wounds, and Caitlin had brought an armful of clothes, an electric kettle and tea service on a tray, some crackers, and a candy bar. Before Tierney had left for Doolin, he’d taken one of the many cars Regulus kept in his underground garage and bought them enough food for a small army. All the vampire kept in the house was blood. Unsurprising.
Peter had tried to sit in the chair in the corner of the room for a bit, but he couldn’t stand being that far away from Sameen, so eventually, he’d stretched out on the bed with his back against the headboard—as close to the edge as he could be to give her space.
He must have nodded off, because he woke to her ragged breathing. “Sameen? You’re safe. Don’t panic, please.”
“Peter.” If he hadn’t been staring right at her lips, he wouldn’t have caught the word. Or her wince of pain and hard swallow.
“I’m right here. This house is warded, and no one’s going to find you here.”
She reached for him, only then seeming to realize her hands were free. The gasp, the way her mouth formed a littleo, and the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes hit him hard, and he slid an arm around her shoulders to help her sit up.
The blanket fell away, but she was so intent on touching her now bare wrists, he didn’t think she noticed. Peter and his wolf were acutely aware of her naked body, however, and he quickly lifted the blanket and tucked it under her arms. Only then did her cheeks flush a shade darker.
“There’s a tea kettle. I could make you some. For your throat. And Caitlin—that’s Liam’s mate—found some clothes that should fit you. Or, I could run some hot water in the tub. Or food? Or—fuck.”
His mate looked completely overwhelmed, and he kicked himself for throwing so many things at her at once.
“Tea first. Okay?” he asked.
After a minute, she nodded, then curled on her side with the blanket pulled up to her neck. He’d kept the lights dim on purpose, not sure if her eyes were sensitive, but she squeezed them shut anyway and buried her face in the pillow.
Caitlin had suggested adding a splash of whiskey and a generous amount of honey and lemon to the cup—her mother’s favorite remedy for a sore throat—and Peter did so, then returned to the bed, helped her sit up and lean against his chest, and steadied the mug.
She almost choked on the first sip. Dammit. He should have warned her. But she took a second, and a third sip, and almost smiled. “Where,” she whispered, “is...here?” This time, the words didn’t seem to cause her as much pain.
“Scotland. Not far from Glasgow. Is the tea all right?” He sounded like an idiot. Like he had no idea how to care for a woman—or for anyone. He certainly had no idea how to talk to her. He had a thousand questions, but he’d already gone overboard once and all he was trying to do was figure out what she most needed.
“Uh huh.” When she gave up after another few sips, he wanted to kick something. Preferably his own ass. He’d obviously fucked it all up.
“I can call Caitlin. She’s better at tea—”
Sameen shook her head. “Too long...need to go slow…”
“Too long?” He set the cup on the nightstand and balled his hands into fists. “I can’t stand not knowing what to do for you.”
Her flinch riled his wolf. The beast wasn’t angry at her, but at himself for being such a fucking idiot he’d scared her when what she probably needed most of all was to feel safe.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice taking on a harsh edge. “I need a minute. Just a minute.” Running away from her felt like the worst decision of his life, but if he couldn’t put some space between them, he’d screw up even more.
Chapter Three
Sameen
The door shut, and she might as well have been locked back in the Thirteen’s dungeon for how very alone she felt.
It didn’t matter that she was free from their chains and spells. She was still in an unfamiliar room, blind save for diffuse shadows—all her damaged eyes could process—and too weak to do more than sit up.
“Peter?” Barely a whisper. She hated feeling so helpless. Years had passed since she’d had to concern herself with complicated thoughts. Or...anythoughts, really, beyond praying for death or wondering if they’d come for her soon, make her suffer more than the endless days, weeks, and months locked inside her own body.
Sometimes, she remembered her last day of freedom. It had been warm. The scent of lilies hanging heavy in the gardens outside her apartment. That was all she had left. She couldn’t picture her bedroom. Her kitchen. Friends, family...
Until Peter had tucked the blanket around her, she hadn’t even thought of her own nakedness. What did she need clothing for? Her entire purpose was to absorb as much elemental power as the Thirteen could channel into her and thendietransforming it into some mythicalspiritelement she was certain she’d never be able to conjure no matter how much they tortured her.
