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His mouth snapped shut, but he didn’t argue. And then, after a few more silent moments, he said, “It’s not in your nature, though.”

“Killing? No. Only to preserve the balance.” And now I was thinking of it, Wulfric’s violence always felt like an imbalance. But it was such a brief one, such a there-and-gone moment, and it never threw things off for long. Just left me vaguely disgusted until things went back to normal.

That was true of most people who passed through, really. Including Red’s grandmother. But while they were in the forest, wasn’t it also my responsibility to preserve them? Ma Greenwood had never said so.

Either way, I should ask the crows to be extra vigilant from now on. They’d love that, at least.

“Is murder really the only option? Are you sure there’s no, I don’t know. Magical prison or something?”

I shook my head but admitted, “There must be, somewhere. Through some portal where a particularly magical person has some kind of special dungeon for their who knows what purposes.” I’d never considered it before, because why would I—prisons were for people, not fungus or plants or animals. Also, “I don’t have the same power in other worlds, other realms. He could win that fight, if I tried it.”

Rd watched me for so long, he nearly tripped on a root. I reached out a hand to catch him and he muttered, “Thanks. Got distracted.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” I couldn’t help smiling.

Again, his fingers lingered in mine, warm and pliant. When we pulled apart, all reluctance, my belly clenched as if I hadn’t eaten in years. We found the deer path in silence, Red returning to his curious inspection of the forest, his bag bouncing off my backside in rhythm with our steps.

Chapter 6: The Magic

Red asked about a bath, but I couldn’t let him strip down in the frigid spring, not after how long it’d taken him to warm up last night. Instead, I heated buckets of water on the fire and let him choose dried herbs to sweeten it. He chopped onions and root vegetables for supper at the table while I carted buckets back and forth, slowly filling up one of the large wooden tubs I used for washing wool. I gave him a linen sheet I’d bought in Ferry Vale years ago, thinking it’d be gentler on his soft skin, and took dinner preparations into the kitchen to give him some privacy.

As night swallowed the forest, my light-drenched cabin took on an unfamiliar warmth. I made pancakes from the vegetables and some flour, then fried them up in sunflower oil. The sounds of Red splashing and humming to himself in the next room took me out of my usual daydreaming, brought me back into the moment, and made me smile. As I set the fritters on the rack to drain, Red called, “Jack?”

I poked my head into the room. He was still in the tub in front of the fire, his bare back and shoulders in shadow. He glanced back at me and smiled. “Do you want a turn? Water’s pretty filthy from me, but a few more buckets could make it less disgusting.”

I chuckled. “I wash in the spring every morning.”

“Oh, it’s good enough for you but not me?” But he was smiling, his face half in the firelight, half in the shadow.

“That’s right.” I chuckled. “Now you’re catching on.”

He leaned over and picked up the linen sheet, then stood. For a moment, I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, mesmerized by the shape of him. Though shadowed, I could make out the dent that signified the small of his back, and how it curved smoothly into a tight but rounded backside. Glittering water clung to his cheeks, caught in the dark hair at the back of his thighs, rolled down his thin but well-shaped legs as if it couldn’t bear to let him go. The hearth flickered in front of him, so his bronze skin appeared to glow from behind, like some fae bonfire spirit inexplicably transported into my domestic quarters.

Again, that sensation of a clenching belly, but this time accompanied by a rush of blood in my ears and between my legs. My prick stood, sudden and hot. I told myself I should leave, turn around, go back into the kitchen. Stop looking.

But he glanced over his shoulder at me as he wrapped the sheet around himself. And one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile. A smile that felt like an invitation.

My heart in my throat, I ducked back into the kitchen, leaned against the counter, and spent a good ten minutes trying to calm my blood. I was losing my mind over him. I’d forgotten so much: how to be heard, touched, even how to look. Red was a reminder of all of it, of all the things I thought I didn’t miss. And he made me want…

Just want.

Eventually he wandered into the kitchen wearing a clean pair of my woolen long johns and the short-sleeved, thin shirt I’d peeled off him, cleaned, then hung up to dry by the fire. “Can I help?” he asked, yawning.

I took down a plate from the cupboard and slid the fritters onto it. As if I hadn’t just been standing there staring at the counter thinking of him for the last—however long. “No. It’s nothing fancy, I’m afraid. And I don’t eat much meat, mostly just what I grow and forage myself. I could get some, though.” It’d mean a trip into Ferry Vale, which I never much enjoyed. But needs must.

“I don’t mind. Amma’s not big on non-veg, so we never ate it much while I was growing up.” He came to me, wet hair smelling of rosemary and lavender, and took the plate from my hands.

As I watched him go, I wondered who had the magic here after all.

After dinner, I emptied out the tub while he sulked at not being allowed to help. Then I showed him my collection of salves and oils on the sideboard in my bedroom. The tiny cuts on his face were barely visible now, but his ribs could use the help. “This one’s arnica and peppermint.” I held up the bottle. “It’ll heal the bruises faster.”

“What’s arnica?” He wrinkled up his nose but accepted the bottle.

“A yellow flower. They grow all over the forest in spring.”

He unstoppered it and sniffed delicately. “Nice, actually.”

I took the bottle back while he pulled off his shirt and threw it casually onto the bed. When he took the oil again, I turned my back and busied myself lighting the small stove at the foot of the bed. “You’ll be more comfortable in here tonight, even with the smaller fire. Last night, you had me worried.”