Page 160 of May: Bloom & Bane

He notices me looking and closes his hand over it to hide his wound.

“What do I do?” he asks nervously.

“Just stay,” I fumble with the drawstring on the pouch. I can’t get my fingers to do what my brain is screaming at them to do. “Just until I’ve given him the tincture… then I can help patch you up.”

I sprinkle a pinch over his nose. Within seconds, Sage’s wings begin to ease, the flush in his cheeks pales back into the green I’m used to. The black liquid around his eyes recedes, drawing back into the corners of his lids. His breathing slowly begins to even out, and his pained whimpers cut off into tiny snores.

I let out a sob and press my forehead against the back of his hand.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay.”

A soft scrabble of claws crosses the floorboards, and Droot appears at the edge of the blankets. He climbs Sage’s arm and presses a small paw against his forehead.

Big Bird is cooler now, he chirps, pulsing a slow, worried blue. Droot will watch over him.

“Your mate is sleeping,” he murmurs, staring at Sage with a bittersweet expression. “How often does this happen to him?”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “This is only the third time, and it’s already so much worse than the first time.”

“Three times in how long?”

“A couple of days. The first time it happened, he tried hiding it, but I knew. I left to find the healing herbs. That’s when I found you by the marsh.”

His hand hovers over where Sage’s wing is still dark.

“That’s a hard thing to live with,” he says. “Loving someone who hides their pain to spare yours.”

“It is,” I whisper, my thumb tracing Sage’s sternum. “He thinks he’s protecting me… but this is not protection.”

Damien’s jaw flexes.

“He seems to be a protector by nature,” he rasps. “But protectors often forget that they are part of the world they are trying to save. If he breaks, the meadow and everything inside it will break with him.” He gestures toward the kitchen, where all the flora has turned into ash.

Something tells me his words have nothing to do with Sage.

“You carried my mate. You ripped yourself open to help two people you don’t even know. Please. Let me help you.”

Healing herbs, bandages, and a bowl of cool water appear on the floor between us.

“You can’t,” he whispers.

“What do you mean I can’t? I have everything we need right here. It’ll only take a minute⁠—”

“I mean, you can’t,” he repeats. “I won’t let you.” His posture has completely changed. The quiet, stoic giant who cradled my mate has been replaced with the mannerisms of someone much more sure of himself.

“I don’t understand. Why won’t you⁠—”

“We’d rather fall apart than have your fingers on us,” he rasps. “We don’t do touch. Not from you. Not from any woman but our mate.”

“Jack, stop,” a softer voice cuts in. His head gives a tiny, pained jerk to the side. “She’s trying to be kind.”

“Only one woman gets to touch this skin, and she isn’t in this room, Lucifer.”

“I won’t touch you,” I murmur. “I understand now. You need your mate to fix your wounds.”

He nods once.

“I’m sorry,” the softer voice rasps. “We’re sorry. My body—these bodies—” he gestures at the patchwork of silver threads and mismatched limbs. “We’re barely holding together as it is. The only thing keeping us from falling apart completely is her.”