“Now look what you’ve done. You’ve reopened the wounds,” he scolds, frowning at the sight. He barely even looks at me, just heads over to a section of the cave where he has things lined up on shelves hewn from stone. Grabbing gauze and antiseptic, he comes back, gently tugging my shirt up and getting to work peeling off the ruined bandage.
A shirt that is very clearly not mine.
Nervously, I slip my hand down to my thigh, patting the soft cotton of sweat pants instead of the jeans I always wear. I own all of two sets of clothes, and these are neither.
“You took my clothes off,” I whisper, not sure if I’m hoping for an admittance of guilt, or bullshit lies to make me feel less violated.
He huffs, cleaning the wound as I hiss in a sharp breath before starting to rewrap it. “’Course I did. You were sopping wet and freezing to death. You’d just get sick leaving you like that.”
His voice is rough, like he doesn’t typically talk much. White, shaggy hair is offset by his unnaturally bright, violet eyes. They’re as beautiful as they are eerie, and a sure way to out him as a shifter. At least I can blend in if I don’t use my abilities and keep the starburst shaped mark at the crook of my neck covered, but even the shifters with more typical eye colors don’t have that same security; the shades are just too vibrant.
We’re forced to bear marks that classify just how different we are, making the targets on our backs that much easier to spot for the humans. Like they haven’t done enough damage, nature sought to give them another advantage?
He tucks the end of the bandage to secure it, letting my shirt fall back into place. It’s several sizes too big, and I roll the long sleeves up to free my hands; only to promptly cover them again as another shiver snakes down my spine. The tiny hairs on my arms stand on end as I get goosebumps, sending infinitesimal pinpricks of pain like static shocks, as what little energy I have strives to make an appearance. My pitiful jacket is gone, and no matter how warm this thermal, long sleeved shirt is, it’s absolutely fucking freezing.
He frowns at me. “You should go back to sleep.”
Amazed he’s taking everything in stride without questioning me about a single thing, I just blink. Who the hell drags a stranger from the river and goes through all of this effort to keep them alive, then doesn’t even want so much as a name, let alone an explanation?
“I have to pee,” I blurt instead, because honestly, of all of my problems, this one is battling for the front seat.
He nods, grabbing a pair of loose sweat pants to yank on before trying to help me out of the sleeping bag. It’s only when he scoops me up to start walking and I get a better look around the cave that I realize we’re going out into the blizzard.
My teeth chatter instantly as I get assaulted with snow for a minute, yelping when my bare feet sink a few inches as he sets me down. He turns his back, not giving any indication that he plans to give me more privacy than that. A small stab of panic rears its head, wondering if I’ve misread the situation and he’s some creep that has no intention of letting me leave.
“Can’t you go wait in the cave?” I beg. It’s not the first time I’ve had to piss in the woods, but at least I was alone then.
He grunts. “Not like I haven’t seen you naked already. Just go before you get pneumonia.”
That reminder definitely doesn’t put me at ease like he seems to think it would. Rather than get into a huge fight about it, because I really am grateful he fished me out of the river and am aware deep down that he’s right, I just sigh.
“Please?” If he refuses, I’ll suck it up rather than holding it until my bladder bursts. But I figure sometimes kindness is worth a shot over sabotaging myself out of spite.
He hesitates for a second before uncrossing his arms, acting like the cold doesn’t bother him despite being half naked. “Shout when you’re done.”
It’s like he thinks I was shot in the leg. But as I brace a hand against the stone wall to squat, I have to grit my teeth to hold the position. When I’m done and clutching the waistband of the borrowed sweats that are several sizes too big, I start walking, just to prove a point.
I can’t feel my feet anymore, and I’m panting by the time I’ve made it ten steps. Mountain man comes into view, scowling, which is apparently his favorite look.
Likely he heard my steps; shifters have insane senses, primarily scent and hearing. I’m not sure how anyone could stand living like that, able to hear every snore and breath happening in the house. Hell, a stray fart would probably put one out of commission.
“You were supposed to shout,” he reminds me, easily hefting me up bridal style despite my protests.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking.” But the effect of my defense is ruined by my chattering teeth.
He rolls his eyes, bringing us back inside and setting me down. Without preamble, he steps out of his pants, handing them to me expectantly. I’m just stuck gaping, not just from the way he obviously has zero sense of personal boundaries, but from the expanse of muscle on display. Man should be on a calendar, I swear. Throw a fireman’s hat on him and I’ll pretend to be the kitten that climbs him like a tree; no saving required.
Jostling the pants in my direction, I finally take them from him. “Bottom half of yours are soaked through now. Change.”
When I don’t immediately comply he huffs, stepping closer like he means to do it for me and I take a step back. “Yeah, sorry, just,” I shake my head, trying not to sound like a bumbling idiot. They say pretty girls make men stupid, but holy hell, lickable muscles turn women into horny savages. “Turn around, okay?”
Swiping a tired hand down his face, he complies without objection. Quickly trying to change, I hiss in pain when I bend over and the skin pulls tight around my wounds. For two tiny holes, they sure hurt like an absolute bitch. When I’m done, I head over towards the small fire he has going and lay the wet pants out on the stone beside it. It’s not nearly enough to warm the cave up, but it’s enough to combat the worst of the chill and keep it dry.
“Okay, I’m decent.”
He turns around, and it might just be my imagination, but it looks like his lip twitches in amusement. It’s gone just as quickly, and as shadows flicker across his face, I chalk it up to a trick of the light.
“Get in the sleeping bag,” he commands and I bite the inside of my cheek, hating the way he’s just issuing orders and expecting submission.
