“With what?” He crossed to the fireplace and dumped his armload of wood into the storage bin with more force than necessary. “Do you have supplies hidden somewhere? A secret cache of provisions I don’t know about?”
Shame crawled up her throat, hot and bitter. She’d wanted to prove she wasn’t just a burden taking up space in his cabin. Instead, she’d made everything worse.
Story of my life,a vicious little voice whispered.Delicate little Ember can’t do anything for herself.
She pushed the thought away and went to retrieve a cloth to wrap around her burned palm. The injury wasn’t severe—a red mark that would blister but not scar—but it stung fiercely, a constant reminder of her incompetence.
“Let me see.” His voice had lost some of its edge. He’d moved closer without her noticing, and now he stood near enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
“It’s fine.”
“Let me see.”
It wasn’t a request. She sighed and held out her hand. He cradled it gently in his huge palm, then led her to the chair by the fire before retrieving a small clay pot from a shelf.
“Salve,” he said briefly as he opened it and a clean, minty scent filled the air. He knelt in front of her, taking her hand again as he spread a greenish paste onto the burn.
His touch was surprisingly gentle, his massive fingers delicately smoothing the salve over her reddened skin. Cool relief spread through her palm, easing the throb almost immediately. She stared at their hands—her small, pale fingers almost disappearing into the weathered strength of his. The sight did strange things to her heart.
“You’re good at this,” she said softly.
He paused, then continued applying the salve. “My pack’s healer taught me.”
“The pack you left?”
His fingers stiffened against her skin. Just for a fraction of a second, but she felt it. The topic was clearly a wound.
“Yes.”
He finished with her hand but didn’t release it. Instead, he examined her wrist, her forearm, as if checking for other injuries she hadn’t mentioned.
“Thank you,” she said, not wanting to pull away.
He grunted in response, but didn’t immediately let go. His thumb was stroking the inside of her wrist in a slow, rhythmic motion that made her pulse speed up despite her best efforts to remain calm. The air between them thickened with something she couldn’t name but could definitely feel—a current that ran from her wrist up her arm and spread through her entire body.
“There’s some dried fruit in the barrel,” he said abruptly, releasing her hand and standing up. The connection broke, leaving her feeling oddly empty. “And I’ll carve some more dried meat. We’ll eat that for now.”
“I can?—”
“You’ll sit by the fire and rest,” he cut in, not unkindly but with absolute finality. “Your body needs energy to heal. Wasting it trying to burn down my cabin is counterproductive.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “It was only the stew.”
“Only the stew,” he repeated, but she heard a trace of something else in his tone. Amusement? “Next you’ll be setting the furs ablaze.”
“I would never risk the furs,” she said indignantly. “They’re the warmest thing in this entire cabin.”
He grunted again, but this time she was almost certain it was a disguised chuckle. He busied himself with retrieving theirmakeshift meal, and she watched him move around the small space with a fluid economy of motion that seemed almost predatory. He wasn’t just big—he was powerful. She’d felt the strength in his arms and shoulders when he’d lifted her so effortlessly.
Everything he did looked easy. Moving through the cabin, tending the fire, preparing food. The simple tasks that required skills she’d never learned.
Because you never needed to learn,that voice whispered again.Because someone was always there to do it for you.
But now she was determined to do it herself.
The next day she slipped into the boots he’d made for her, pulled up the pants he’d cut down for her, and shrugged into one of his heavy fur vests before picking up the bucket by the door.
“Where are you going?”
