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Jarek gladly waited. Listening to Lilith and Ava arguing downstairs, he moved away from the pointy objects, slipping off the coat just as Lilith returned. In her hands was the tray, and on it was her too full cup of wine, a plate piled high with desserts, a steaming teacup, and a dish. She set it on the bedside table and, completely unbothered, sat herself close enough to Jarek that their thighs touched when she sank into the bed. She presented him a small dish of dried herbs as if it were gold.

“A bit archaic, but Ava and her teas came through in place of a real muscle relaxant. A little rosemary and lavender in a cup of purpletips should take some of the edge off before I start. That and the—”

Jarek choked on a rising gasp. “You intend to do this?”

“Who’d you think was going to stitch you up? Ava?” She rolled her eyes and scooted away to grab the wine. “I’d love to see it.”

“Since when have you been able to do that?”

“Since always.”

Jarek snatched the glass from her hand. “You’ve been drinking! And when was the last time you ate?”

Lilith lifted her posture to swipe a scone from the tray and popped it in her mouth. Jarek’s lips quirked, but he didn’t relent.

“I promise I know what I’m doing. Cleaned everything downstairs after I closed up Aarin. I’ll show you his stomach if you’d like a peek at my handiwork. Actually…”

Lilith leaned over to untie her boot. She slipped it off and rolled up her left pant leg, stopping at the calf. Lifting her foot, she twisted it back and forth. Two silver lines caught in the firelight on both the inside and outside of her leg just above her ankle.

“Stepped in a fox trap three days after I left here. Pried myself out and waited almost a day before I had the courage to do something about it. I would’ve been more than happy to kill for all of the luxuries I just offered you.”

“You did that yourself?”

“Not bad, huh?”

He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the clearly visible but delicate seams that silently told a small part of her story.

“They’re lovely.”

Lilith paused before tucking her foot away. She laughed, nervously. He lifted his gaze to her face, and she straightened her posture, flattening whatever expression crossed her features and its accompanying emotion. “Herbs, or no?”

The winding, writhing tension filling his chest evaporated, leaving him feeling airy and peaceful, craving only her company. Jarek took a long swig of the wine and set it on the floor out of her reach.

“This should be plenty. I hope to be coherent enough to at least get up and bathe afterward.”

She frowned at the nearly empty glass. “You need it.”

“And you don’t?”

Jarek could see her debating swatting at him. Instead, she rolled up her baggy sleeves before picking at the gauze over his arm. He tensed, but she was careful peeling off the bandage. Jarek forced himself to stay still as she smeared a cold gel around the screaming wound. When she finished, she took off her other boot and disappeared to the washroom with her bag. She returned with a bottle and a towel, making herself comfortable before fiddling with her things.

“Ready?”

“Not in the slightest.”

The first stitch was the worst. He flinched, and she muttered apologies, but kept moving, stopping every so often to rinse it. As the motions and the feeling became familiar, he relaxed as much as he could. Lilith was still—mouth in a hard line, eyes steady.

“Can you talk while you’re working or is that too much of a distraction?”

“What’s on your mind?”

So much. “More so what’s on yours. I still owe you an answer.” Lilith’s frown deepened. “About anything you’d like.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Jarek tried to emulate the patience she showed with him.

“How old are you?” she finally asked.

“That’s your question?”