“Asshole it is then,” I grumble. “So if you’ve killed other hunts, why not kill me?”
Grimus doesn’t answer, but Bracken does. He prances forward and dances around me, gleefully singing, “Because you taste like pure magic, Goldie. Pure, pretty, raw magic. And it’s better to keep you alive than waste it in a second by death.”
I narrow my eyes. “You think to put me in a cage?”
Bracken grins, reaching out to stroke along my jawline. A dangerous part of me keeps me still, keeps me from pulling away. “Oh, Goldie,” he purrs. “You were born in a cage.” He leans closer as if he’s going to kiss me. “We all were.” Then, with a slightly senile giggle, he prances away into the trees, off to do whatever fey like him do.
I’m so focused on watching his path, I don’t watch my step well enough. There’s nothing left of the slippers on my feet, so when I step on a stick wrong, it slices into my foot, and I stumble on a gasp.
“Ow.” I grunt, reaching for the nearest tree to lean against. Before my hand can touch it, Grimus is there, his large hand around my wrist, keeping me from touching it.
“The tree has thorns,” he explains, and then his nostrils flare. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s probably small,” I reply, holding my damaged foot off the ground. “I can keep going.”
“It’s not whether you can keep going,” Grimus retorts before he glances around us. “Most creatures in the Dead Lands can smell blood from miles away. It’s better to wrap the wound than continue forward, leaving a path for any monster to follow.” He looks around again. “We’ll stop here for the night.”
Shame fills me, as does more guilt. “Are you certain? I can keep—”
“We stop here,” he interrupts, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll build a fire. Sit down on the log.”
I frown but do as he says, taking a seat on the log and lifting my foot over my knee. As he goes to work building a small fire, I gently peel the ruined slipper from my foot, realizing just how little is left of the thing. Apparently, I’d long ago walked away what was left of the fabric, and the only things on my feet are the thin soles and the elastic that held them on. As I pull off the slipper, the tear in the sole becomes apparent. No wonder the stick hurt.
It went right through.
My feet are dirty, and when I go to wipe away some of the dirt, Bracken reappears holding a canteen of water and a scrap of fabric.
“Where did that come from?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. My only answer is a sordid grin.
Grimus keeps his eyes on me as he pulls items from his pack and begins to roast them over the fire. The smell of cooking meat fills the air again, and my mouth waters. I don’t know what sort of creature we’re eating, but I won’t ask in case it’s something that will turn my stomach. It’s best to eat and enjoy the food while I can.
I go to work cleaning off my foot as best as I can, revealing just how deep the cut is. My foot feels warm to the touch when I clean away the mud and debris, and I worry it’ll get infected. Still, I don’t have much choice but to keep going. The best I can do is clean it and keep moving. Hopefully, the wound won’t worsen.
“Here,” Grimus grumbles, thrusting a bit of meat toward me.
Before I can reach up to take it, Bracken whistles and tries to grab it. Moving too quickly for me to follow, Grimus jerks the meat away and throws his fist toward the fey. The crack echoes around us as Bracken falls back on his ass with a grunt.
“That hurt,” Bracken mutters, reaching up to his bloody nose. His blood isn’t red like mine is. It’s black. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“You can catch your own food,” Grimus scolds, holding the meat toward me again.
This time, I take it swiftly, the grease and juices running down my wrist as I bite into the larger chunk of meat. I expect Grimus to cook more for himself, but instead, he kneels in front of me and inspects my foot.
“What are you doing?” I ask around a mouthful of food.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans in and prods my foot, sending a jolt of pain up my leg. I watch as he reaches into his pack and pulls out a jar of something. He carefully scoops out whatever is in it and gently smears it across my foot. I nearly choke on the food in my mouth.
Even kneeling before me, Grimus’ horns make him taller than me. He’s a glorious creature when he’s standing, but seeing him kneeling before me makes something inside me wake up. When Bracken shifts to my right, I glance at him. There’s a sparkle in his eyes, as if he knows how I’m feeling and can sense my arousal at having such a large warrior at my feet.
Fuck. This is bad.
Clearing my throat does nothing for the rasp that Grimus either doesn’t pick up on or doesn’t acknowledge. “What is the stuff you put on my foot?”
“Althaea officinalis,” he murmurs. “It helps with inflammation and heals.” He grabs something from the pack and tears whatever the fabric is, making a thin strip that he begins to wrap around my foot. “This should keep anyone from following your trail.”
When he’s done, I flex my foot and marvel at the comfort of it. “Thank you,” I say softly, meeting his eyes.
“I’ll make you something that can work in place of these scraps of material.” He holds up the tattered slipper and tosses it away. “You humans have such soft flesh.”
