Page 11

Mossy eyes and hair the color of tree bark. A creature of the earth, this one. He smelled of it too, like wood shavings and sawdust. Perhaps he built ships, or wooden boxes like this one.

He’d tasted of the earth too, when Syrus had sampled his blood. It had made Syrus’s lips tingle, the depths of that flavor. More appetizing than that gristly guard by far.

And Syrus liked the way this human spoke, hesitant but…warm. So worried for Syrus and his battered appendages. Syrus liked even more the way those pretty eyes darted every which way as Luke pretended not to admire Syrus’s impressive form.

As if summoned by Syrus’s thoughts, there was a knock on the door to the bathroom. And then the door opened, and the human peered in, his brow furrowed with more of that delicious concern. “Syrus, are you ready to get dressed?”

Ugh. No. He wasn’t.

Syrus didn’t understand the appeal of human garments, draping false coverings over his beautiful skin. But it was the way of these people, and Syrus needed Luke to let his guard down. Just a little. Just enough to allow Syrus to stay.

“Yes, Luke,” Syrus answered. He enjoyed the way Luke’s breath hitched when Syrus said his name out loud. Names were powerful things, weren’t they?

Good thing Syrus had chosen such a lovely one for himself.

“Um, okay.” Luke remained outside the room, with only his head poking through the door. “I have clothes I’ll leave here. And when you’re ready⁠—”

“I need assistance,” Syrus interrupted. He couldn’t have his interesting human leaving already, abandoning Syrus in the boring white room. And he did need assistance, for that matter, with these wretched limbs.

And there it was again. The dart and dance of Luke’s eyes as he tried not to glance at Syrus over the tub. And there—a hint of pink blooming under the hair covering his face.

It was all very charming, wasn’t it? Syrus hadn’t realized how charming the right human could be.

“Oh, right. Okay. Um, let’s sit you down here.” Luke stepped into the bathroom and lowered the lid of the toilet, making a seat for Syrus. He turned off the spray of water without meeting Syrus’s eyes.

Syrus sat up straight and lifted his arms. Luke crouched and nudged his shoulder under Syrus’s to help Syrus stand. There was the pain, bright and sharp. Syrus ignored it as he got to his feet in the slippery tub. He pivoted and sat on the makeshift seat, lifting his legs after him and setting his feet down gingerly on the mat.

Luke handed him a cloth, presumably for drying, and Syrus studied his human as he patted himself down as best he could. He’d gotten Luke’s clothes wet again, and Luke now had large damp spots on his fresh shirt. Although, he wasn’t shivering this time, not as he had been when he’d given Syrus his jacket in some vain attempt at human modesty.

Syrus frowned at him. There was kindness, and there was naivety. And this human had a spawn to protect—he couldn’t afford the latter.

He clearly needed watching, poor thing.

Luke sorted through the pile he’d left on the sink and held up a smaller garment. “Okay. I’m just gonna slide the underwear over your feet.” The pink hiding under his facial hair deepened. “And you can, um, lift your hips when I get to them.”

Syrus’s frown softened. So nervous but so helpful.

Luke knelt on the floor in front of Syrus’s legs, carefully sliding Syrus’s damaged feet through the holes. He slid the underwear up, and Syrus lifted his hips when told, admiring the way Luke looked so determinedly in the other direction all the while, as if Syrus’s mating appendage would burn his eyes if he dared peer at it.

Their task ended with Luke very close, his hands resting on Syrus’s hips. Syrus hummed in pleasure. He liked Luke so close, smelling of the earth. This human would never be found in a white coat, jabbing indiscriminately. And this room may have been white, but there were no sterile smells here, no hospital odors. Just wood and sawdust and the faint citrus scent of the bottled soaps and lotions.

Luke released his hold on Syrus’s hips with a start, stepping back as he cleared his throat. “Okay. And the sweats will be a little short, but…” He trailed off.

Syrus lifted his foot obligingly, and Luke helped him into the pants. They were softer than the stiff pair Luke wore, but the fabric still itched at Syrus’s skin. Luke then lifted another garment, one to cover Syrus’s torso, and Syrus shook his head. He had his limits, after all. “No shirt.”

Luke’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure? You were out in that cold water for so⁠—”

“No shirt,” Syrus repeated firmly.

Luke set the garment aside, his lips twisted in disapproval. “All right. I’ll be right back.”

He left the bathroom, and Syrus frowned after him. It was so inconvenient to be hobbled in this way. The human could come and go, and Syrus could only wait, sitting in uncomfortable garments that dug in at his waist and the tops of his thighs.

Really, what was the point of this underwear?

But Luke was only gone a moment. He returned shortly with a small cardboard box in his hands. “I found basically everything we need,” he said eagerly. “I can’t—can’t stitch you up or anything. But I have Aquaphor and gauze and ACE bandages to secure it all.”

He knelt at Syrus’s feet again, taking one in his hands and studying every angle carefully. “You got all the sand out, at least.”