I give her a dry look as she pushes the needle through her skin and begins stitching the hole shut, blood squelching free with each fleshy tug, that luminous strand tangled around her hand and wrist glowing in the dull light.
“Right,” Roan says, clearing the croak from his throat. “That saves me a job—”
“And reminds me I need to put my fuckin’ piercings back in,” Pyrok mumbles, leaning back to dig through his pocket.
Roan nudges me. “Lean forward.”
I do as he says, setting my elbows on my knees and forcing myself to watch Raeve fix herself one messy stitch at a time. Pretty certain she’s telling me something, not that she probably realizes it.
I barely notice Roan clean the prongs and refire them. Barely feel him dig into each wound, grip the pins, and yank them free. Too caught up in the way Raeve’s long lashes shadow her glacier eyes into a darker hue.
The pinch of her mouth, the curve of her jaw, the fierce concentration on her face—it’s all a hard outer shell that hides whatever’s brewing beneath.
She pulls the final stitch tight and knots it off, using one of her blades to cut the needle free as the last pin is yanked from my rib.
Ignos’s and Bulder’s songs blast me with welcomed gusto, and I pull breath, dropping a murmured order.
“Get out.”
Raeve looks up.
Seeming to realize my command was not aimed at her, she reaches between her legs and grips the bottle.
Takes another swig.
“No disrespect, but these are bleeding pretty bad,” Roan says, using a cloth to clean off some of the blood I feel dribbling down my back. “If I don’t etch them shut, or at the very leaststitchthem, you might—”
“Sishath, Ignos. Heith asha veh shiel zuisten juth-ah.”
Raeve stiffens, then averts her gaze as a fiery hand emerges from the hearth like a budding bloom—Ignos hissing with ravenous glee.
Ready tofeast.
“Zist av shún …”
Roan leaps to the side in time to avoid the hand now stretching toward me, and five burning fingers press on my wounds.
One for each.
I grit my teeth and endure the cauterizing burn, the smell of frying flesh … both things that used to bring me to my knees, haunted by memories of Pah lashing me to shreds while ordering me totake control.
Once I’m well and truly melted shut, I coax Ignos to retreat back to the hearth and ribbon through the chimney, sapping all the warmth from the room as both brothers evacuate, leaving everything behind but the alcohol.
The cooler light honors Raeve. Makes her eyes stand out like gemstones, her fiercely regal features accentuated by the harsh shadows. The sort of beauty that turns heads and leaves a wake of broken hearts, worn like she doesn’t even realize it.
“You’re stunning,” I say.
A faint line forms between her brows. Other than that, she doesn’t move.
“I didn’t tell you enough. Something I regretted every dae for over a hundred phases.”
No response.
The front door snicks shut, and despite Raeve’s frigid silence, something inside me loosens, relaxing into our shared atmosphere. A feeling that makes me want to lean against the pallet with her pressed against my chest, close my eyes, and forget everything that doesn’t exist within this room.
Except she looks more partial to a murder spree than she does to letting me wrap her in my arms.
Sighing, I reach for the clay bowl and move it to the empty stool beside me, plunging a cloth through the water. I begin wiping my chest and arms, leaning forward to redunk the cloth and squeeze out the filth.
