The word brushed her mind before she could stop it.
Arthur paused at the stairwell. “You sure you can manage?”
“I’m not an invalid,” she said.
He looked unconvinced but held his tongue.
They climbed slowly. At the landing, she hesitated, her room to the right, his to the left.
Arthur stopped too.
Neither moved.
Then, after a long, fraught beat, he stepped closer, not touching, just near enough that the bond warmed faintly between them.
“Rest,” he said softly. “I’ll be right down the hall.”
Her pulse fluttered. “Arthur—”
He stopped, the weight of his gaze conveying a whole host of emotions. Of longings. She knew because she felt it, too.
She raised her hand. “Come with me.”
There was no resistance as he let her lead him into his bedroom, lighting the fire with a flicker of power. He didn’t flinch. His eyes were warm as he watched her, letting her guide him.
Slowly, mindful of his injuries, she undressed him, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on the table. Then, from her pockets, she drew out a few herbal poultices andclasped them in one hand to her chest. The other, she traced over his skin, muttering low under her breath.
She’d expected at least some measure of pushback from him. But he was pliant under her fingers, leaning forward into her touch, his eyes drifting shut as she traced the cuts and bruises.
The injuries ran deep. Whatever power had awoken in him had taken its toll, and no amount of magic would be able to cure what a decent night’s rest could manage. But she eased his aches where she could, his shifter biology taking her magic and unfurling it throughout him, speeding his healing even further.
Her fingers skated upwards from the broad muscles of his chest to his jaw, to the scar that bisected his face. His eyes flickered open, and he leaned into her touch, resting his cheek in her palm.
“What happened?” she asked, her thumb brushing the white line.
He chuckled, hands coming to rest on her hips, pulling her closer towards him. “Guess.”
“I’ve heard three different stories since being here,” she said, “one, you fought an actual bear. Another, it was a fight with a packmate. And the third…”
“Aye?” he asked, voice dropping low.
She swallowed, a blush rising in her cheeks. “The third was that an angry lover threw a vase at your face when she caught you with another woman.”
He threw his head back and guffawed, one large hand moving up to gently cup the base of her head, fingers weaving through her hair.
“Nothing so interesting, I’m afraid,” he said, tilting her head up and pressing a light kiss to her lips. She hummed and leaned into him. “None of those are true. I’ll tell you the real story, for a price.”
“A price?” she asked, brow quirking.
“Aye,” he said, his voice lowering, hand on her hip tightening with unmistakable intent.
She smirked. “Joke’s on you then. I would have given youthatfor free.”
“Is that so?” he said, picking her up with swift ease. She squeaked, her legs wrapping around his naked waist, his growing hardness pressing into the seam of her jeans.
She didn’t bother replying. Just bent her head down to capture his lips once more, groaning as his tongue swiped against hers, powerful and demanding.
Roughly, he walked them to the bed, bumping into more things than he avoided. Eventually, her back made contact with the soft blankets atop the mattress, and she let her legs fall apart so that he could easily slot between them.
