“Sure. There might even be a next time.”
“So you admit it—I’m just as good at saving your life as you are at saving mine.”
“Don’t get carried away, Quinlocke.” He smirks the tiniest of smirks.
I stifle a laugh. “How long do they say you need to heal?” I ask, moving to the side of the bed and looking into his eyes.
“I’m fine.” He starts to sit up but hisses sharply and flops back down on the bed as he grips his chest. When he tugs the collar of his shirt down, I see a small stab wound close to his shoulder.
“What happened there?”
“Maliek,” he mutters.
“It’s bleeding.”
“The healer gave me something and said the bleeding would stop soon.”
“Well maybe if you stop moving and tone down the bravado, it’ll heal faster.” I scan the high shelves on the other side of the room. They’re crammed with bowls, medicines, and glass vials. A built-in counter below them displays a stack of neatly folded towels.
“Where is the healer, anyway?” I ask.
“Don’t know. She saw my gear and kept giving me funny looks. Won’t be surprised if she doesn’t come back. She probably thinks I’ll cut her head off or something.”
“Hmm. Can’t say I blame her for thinking that. Youdolove cutting heads off.”
I walk over to the shelves and read the etched vials. I spot one with porune oil, pluck it off the shelf, grab two clean towels, and carry both to Thane’s bed.
“What is that?” he asks, fighting a groan.
“Porune. It’s a numbing agent. It’ll blunt the pain. Now lift up your shirt,” I order.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Get over yourself.” I place the medicine vial down on the bed and tug his shirt up. It takes everything in me not to react to his rock-hard abs and impressive pecs. Even with a few battle scars, he’s a delicious sight. Honestly, the scars make him sexier, though I’ll never admit that out loud, andespeciallynot to him.
“Stare harder, why don’t you?” There’s clearly humor in his tone.
I poke his wound. He grunts and swallows the pain through gritted teeth.
“Stop your shit talking or I won’t numb the wound,” I threaten politely.
“You’re not as nice as I thought you were, oh sweet one.”
“Iamnice. Just not when it comes to dealing with jerks like you.” I open the vial and press the towel to the mouth of it, allowing the translucent yellow liquid to soak into the fibers. I place it on his wound, and he winces, his muscles tensing before settling again.
I use the other towel to wipe sweat from his forehead, and in the process, his eyes latch on mine. I want to look away, I really do, but I’m stuck—lost in his deep, golden irises.
“I thought you were going to die.” My words come out sounding more vulnerable than I expected.
“It’ll take more than water to kill me.” His hand curls around mine. I squeeze it as my heart flutters. His palm is warm with hardly any calluses, likely from those fingerless gloves he wears.
I’ve never seen so much of his skin before and find it hard not to absorb every detail. On his forearm is the letterD, but each point of the letter is sharp and jagged. It matches the sameDon the dagger he gave me in Delchester Forest, only thisDhas a raised slash cutting through it. It’s as if someone pressed something hot to his skin to try and burn it off.
The Divine.
“Thane?” I struggle with my next set of words, looking into his eyes for answers. He waits for me to speak. I chicken out, pulling my hand out of his. “Turn on your side,” I murmur instead.
He hesitates before doing as he’s told. When he flips over, I freeze again. On his back is the most intricate (and upsetting) ink design I’ve ever seen.
