He turns his head toward the door. “I made…a mistake,” he gruffs finally.
“You made a mistake by coming back here and not going to someone who could help you,” I scold.
“I know. It’s just—I—that normally wouldn’t have taken me down that fast. But there are—“ He breaks off with a hesitant look.
“What?”
“There are some…changes I’m adjusting to.”
“Changes?” I question, but he purses his lips. “You still… don’t trust me,” I say dejectedly as I finish unraveling the bandages and lay them on the counter beside me.
“No.” He lays a hand against my arm. “No, it’s not that. I trust you completely.”
“Really?” I say, my anger pushing through.
He looks taken aback. “Yeah, of course.“
“Then why did you get rid of the shamir?”
Surprise flickers over his face as he opens and closes his mouth. “I…” His shoulders sag. “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely.
I turn and silently grab a rag from the counter, wetting it at the tap to clean his wound, but he forces my face back to meet his. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”
“I let you mark me. You can track me,” I snap.
“I know. It’s just…I know it might’ve been tempting. Not that you would try to escape, but just even to go see Vera, and I really don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“What do you think is going to happen to me exactly if something happens to you?”
His brows crumple in distress, and I can see that the thought really hasn’t occurred to him. It hasn’t dawned on him how our fates are now tied. “What do you think they would do with me, then?” I say, dropping my voice to little more than a whisper.
He shakes his head. “Nothing…nothing is going to happen to me.” But even he doesn’t sound convinced, and I scoff softly. He leans down to level his face with mine. “Nothingis going to happen to me,” he says fiercely, eyes imploring me to believe him as he scans my face, looking for my forgiveness. He’s soclose.His eyes flit over my lips. My heart skips in my chest, but he straightens with a sigh, leaving me thoroughly flustered.
It takes me several seconds to regain my composure, only remembering the task at hand when he starts to step back. “Ah!” I say in warning, pulling him back by his hip. I grab the wet rag and begin gently cleaning away the thick poultice.
“I can manage, pet, really.” He starts to back up again, and I clamp my knees around his waist.
“Don’t fight me,” I say, peering up with a slight smirk as I wield his own words against him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable…boyish in the way his shoulders sag in surrender.
He looks down and peels lightly at his braies before his eyes trail over the pile of soiled garments in the tub. Likely piecing together that I’d changed his clothes. He clears his throat and lifts a hand to rub at his chest as I continue cleaning his wound.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, eying the hand that’s drawing slow circles over his sternum.
“Yea—yes.” He promptly drops his hand back to his side.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine?” I ask, lifting a single brow in disbelief.
“I’m hungry,” he admits.
I grin. Of course, he is. I work at cleaning away the thick green paste, trying not to notice the flexing of his muscled abdomen, the line of dark hair that disappears down behind the fabric of his braies, or the prominent hip bones jutting out like the perfect handles for gripping. But then it’s Vera’s words echoing in my head.Touch him.
It really hadn’t been my initial intention in cleaning his wound but itisthe perfect opportunity. I move a little slower, letting each swipe of the rag linger a little longer, lifting my other hand to his hip to steady myself against and brushing my thumb lightly over his skin. His hands twitch restlessly at his sides and he coughs.
I wipe the last of the paste away and marvel at how well healed his wound already is, the skin already beginning to meld back together around the black thread. “This poultice worked really well. I think it’s healed enough I can take this thread out, don’t you?”
