Page 71 of Red

Stark’s eyes go wide as the water starts steaming, but I do my best to ignore it. I should kick him out, I just don’t want to. I’ve fought enough today, and it’s still morning.

“Are you not afraid?”

The question makes me pause.

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Stark.”

His hand rubs the side of the tub. I glance at those eyes, soft, his face downturned.

“Are you afraid?” I ask.

“For you, always.”

I look down at my legs in the water, moving the washcloth over them.

“You’re fearless. You leave the house when pack members are hunting you. You leave and go see humans, even though you’re not a werewolf. If they knew where you came from . . . And the Elders . . .”

“I’m not fearless, I’m angry. The pack members . . . you . . . you don’t know anything about me. You all make assumptions, treating me like I’m this breakable, useless person. The humans killed my brother—you seem to all forget that . . . They took him from me. And the Elders . . .” I shake my head. My back screams as I grip the cloth and fold it into a few layers. Lifting it up to my mouth, I shove it in.

“What are you doing?”

I close my eyes and ignore him. I need to focus.

The heat burns inside me as I start low on my back. I can’t see the cuts, but anywhere they cross, magic swarms there to fix them. I fuel the fire, letting the inner flames burn as hot as they can, and it starts. The wounds on my back start to close one my one. I bite down hard on the cloth, choking on my own screams, my tears dripping off my cheeks. He can’t see the lowest claw marks beneath the now-red water.

“Stop. You need to stop whatever you’re doing,”

I look up at Stark’s face, distraught. I shake my head no, and lift my hands out of the water to hold on to the tub. The two deepest cuts right below the surface of the water are last.

“Alo, your skin.”

I grip tight and let it burn. It’s worse than the cuts themselves as the layers comes together.

When I’m done, I pull the cloth from my mouth and pull in a breath. The cool water continues to flow into the tub, and I sink my head under it. My temples relax while the water rushes over my face. When my lungs calm and the magic in me sizzles, I sit up and turn the water off.

“A towel,” I say.

Stark shakes his head and grabs a large beige towel. He holds it out in front of himself, and I stand. He wraps it around me and lifts me out of the tub.

“Ah,” I cry out when the towel brushes over the freshly healed skin.

“What are you, Red?” he says.

Yes, I think. The answer is so close, and yet . . . Not that I can say that to you.

“I need to sleep,” I say, my voice a whisper. I start dragging my feet, but he scoops me up and walks me over to the bed. I am too tired to question it.

He lays me down and goes to grab the covers.

“No, I’m hot.”

“You’re not hot. You’re on fire.”

“Yeah,” I say and laugh, but it stops short.

He leans down and kisses my forehead.

I close my eyes and sleep.