It was hard work, the tight, wet leather clinging to her cold skin, and she had to shimmy her body to help him pull the breeches down. They stuck, and he grunted as he shifted his thumbs and tried again.
Bard. She wasn’t at all sleepy now. Even with the relentless ache in her shoulder, she was acutely aware of his big hands, the heat of his fingers where they ran down her legs, how close he was to her body.
The breeches suddenly came away, and she stepped out of them, one foot at a time. He stood and lifted the sodden leather away to dry beside the fire, returning as she sank into the comfortable armchair.
“What about your jerkin?” he asked slowly.
There was only one solution. “Cut it off.”
Tor watched her for a moment but then nodded. “Okay.” He pulled out a lethal-looking dagger and began slicing through the laces while she held the blanket swathed around her body and over her chest.
It was a strange kind of dance. Trying to hold the blanket out of the way but at the same time cover herself. All while keeping her injured shoulder still. She was deeply, intensely aware of the closeness between them. Of how big he was, and yet how carefully—tenderly almost—he was helping her.
If he hadn’t been so close, she might have thought he was unaffected. His face was stoic, completely shuttered, and he hadn’t said a word since he’d taken out his knife. But she could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Could feel the way his breath picked up. And she knew that he was as aware of her as she was of him.
Eventually, he was able to pull the pieces of the jerkin away, leaving only a small circle of leather surrounding the shaft of the arrow.
Tor helped her to thread her good arm into the dry cotton of the shirt that had been left for her, working it over the top of the blanket, and cleared his throat. “Will you be alright if I go and get Rafe, our healer?”
Keely leaned her head back against the chair, fighting the urge to say no, she would not be alright if he left. Bard. What was wrong with her? First, she wanted him to hold her. Now she wanted him to stay. This stranger. Thissoldier. She forced herself to reply. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Don’t go to sleep.”
She chuckled. “I won’t.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, still not moving for the door, and she let out a huff. So, this was what it was like to be coddled by a burly, frowning mama duck. It was strangely soothing. “I won’t go to sleep. I promise I’ll wait for the healer.”
Tor nodded silently and left.
The room felt so much colder without him in it. So much lonelier. But that was her life. That was what she was used to. A long line of lonely rooms.
For a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to have a man like Tor run his fingers down her legs in a different way. To touch her with desire. To look up at her with those dark eyes filled with heat instead of worry. To have someone care for her and protect her.
It was a nice dream. But not for her. She trusted him with her life, but not with her body. And not with her heart. Never again would she risk that kind of devastation.
Tor was back within a couple of minutes, accompanied by a friendly-looking Nephilim with deep purple-blue eyes, wide shoulders, and a leather case in his hands.
Tor gestured the man forward. “This is Rafe. He’s the healer.”
Keely chuckled. She’d gathered that much already.
Rafe smiled in response. “Tor says you were shot.”
“Yeah.” She pulled the blanket back so he could see the arrowhead embedded in the front of her shoulder. It had started to bleed again, and her arm ached relentlessly.
“Where’s the shaft?” Rafe asked.
“I broke it off.”
Both men frowned, but it was Rafe who replied. “That must have hurt.”
“Hurt a lot less than having the head constantly pulled by the shaft.”
Rafe nodded slowly. “Been shot before?”
Actually, no. But there’d been plenty of former soldiers in Verturia who had. Soldiers who had fought against men like Tor and Rafe. Maybe even fought against Tor and Rafe themselves.
She wanted to blame them. Bard knew she’d spent long enough hating the Blues under Ballanor. But she’d also watched Val and Alanna together. Seen him sacrifice everything for her again and again. She couldn’t blame Val, and she couldn’t blame his friends either. No. She blamed the kings who’d sent them there to die.
