Just true.
His hand touched my skin.
I clenched my fists.
Closed my eyes.
What if he’s wrong? What if he’s wrong—oh god—what if he’s wrong—
Bare flesh brushed my cheek.
Gentle. Soft. A touch I hadn’t felt in years.
And—
Nothing happened.
No pull.
No pain.
No surge of hunger.
Just… contact.
Warm. Human. Real.
My breath shuddered out of me.
I opened my eyes.
He was watching me, amusement flickering like a shadow across his face.
When he smiled—full, warm, devastating—it hit me with the force of something ancient rising from sleep.
“See,” he murmured, his voice like embers shifting. “You’re safe.”
He tore a strip of fabric from his own shirt, soaked it with the poultice, and lifted it to my cheek. His fingers brushed my jaw, slow and deliberate, and a tremor ran down my spine.
He didn’t miss it.
His other hand stroked my cheek once—soft, grounding—like touch was something he knew how to wield with perfect control.
“Hold this.”
I did. The poultice was cold and tingly, magic stitching through my skin almost immediately.
My stranger stepped back, eyes still locked on mine.
“Who are you?” I breathed.
He stepped away from me and sat on a log, watching me a stillness that amazed me.
His hair was black like silk. His body large and muscular.
He was stunning.
“A friend.” He said finally.
