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Without missing a beat he released my arms and scooped me up, holding me close to his chest as he took us both into the bathroom. I didn’t protest. I didn’t have the energy or inclination to stop him, when there was nothing I wanted more in that moment than compassion and comfort. He was giving me both, so why would I tell him not to?
He put me down on the edge of the tub, and I braced my arms on his shoulders to keep from falling backwards. Methodically he got the water running and put a bath mat on the floor, which he kneeled on so he was even height with me.
“Do you think you can help me get your jeans off?” His voice was soft, but the edge of anger I’d heard earlier was still there. His words trembled slightly.
“Why?”
“We need to see how bad it is, and I don’t think you want me to rip them off. I can make sure you don’t need to put your weight on your feet, but it will go faster if you help.”
The way he explained it was so obvious I was amazed he didn’t walk around talking all women out of their pants every day. His point was valid, though. I only had the one pair of jeans. I hadn’t been expecting to stay in Franklinton this long.
I nodded and undid the button on my jeans with shaking fingers. Wilder looked up at the ceiling. He waited until I had the zipper undone then lowered
his gaze back to me. “Put your arms around my neck.”
I did as he asked. Any energy for more questions had vanished. He could have told me to stand on my head and sing the national anthem and I wouldn’t have resisted.
With my arms around him, he hoisted me up again, long enough for him to tug my jeans down over my hips. As he pulled them off, his fingertips lingered, the effort to remove my pants taking longer than it probably needed to. My breath hitched, and I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against his cheek. I felt the warmth of my exhalations on his skin.
We both froze there, his fingers behind my knees. I lifted my face, my lips next to his. He was warm and strong. Everything about this, the smell, the imagined taste of his skin, the way his fingers felt as they dug into my calf, it was all so perfectly right.
And yet, so wrong.
I shuddered. He let go of my knees and tugged the jeans over my feet cautiously. The frozen moment was gone. We were both in motion, remembering what had brought us here in the first place. I winced as he touched my feet, and braced myself against the cold tub.
When my feet hit the water, I growled, an unmistakably animal sound. I tried to recoil, but he touched my calf, stilling me. “I know it hurts. We need to clean it though. If you got anything stuck in your skin, you don’t want to heal with it still inside you.”
I gave a tight nod. He was right, of course, and thank goodness one of us was thinking rationally. Werewolves healed fast, and the damage to my feet was relatively superficial. But my body couldn’t just make rocks and glass vanish. If we didn’t get all the crap out now, it would mean cutting the wounds open later to get the stuff out.
Healing my feet twice in twenty-four hours was not my idea of a good time.
I looped one of my arms around his neck and closed my eyes against the pain as he massaged my feet and went over them with the focus of a doctor. He scoured every inch, top to bottom, up my ankles and down the back of my calf. It was agony. Everything he touched was raw and torn, and healing had already begun in a few places. He had to dig his nails into my skin to pull something free, and I whimpered, letting the tears flow free as he tugged it loose.
I opened one eyelid, feeling nauseous when I couldn’t see what he’d found. Wilder held up a short, bloody screw for me to look at before he tossed it in the sink, which was a mess thanks to the other things he’d found. Bits of branch and gravel sat in a bloody pool, stark red against the yellowing white porcelain.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“I can’t believe you ran here.”
Neither could I, after seeing what had been in my skin.
After one final inspection he seemed satisfied. The water in the tub had begun to cool and was now a dark pink shade. Wilder pulled my feet into his lap and dried them, patting the bottoms so gently it was actually a relief compared to what I’d just felt. The healing wouldn’t take long. Maybe a couple hours and I’d be good as new.
I tried to argue I could walk on my own, but he wasn’t having any of it. He carried me back into the main room and set me on the still-made bed. I flushed with embarrassment, realizing what a mess I’d made of the sheets and comforter on his.
“Lay down,” he instructed.
“No, we have to go.”
“Look, Princess, I get it. Danger lurking at every turn. The world is against us. I know.”
He had to think I was going to be okay. He was calling me Princess again. “You don’t under—”
Wilder pushed me down when I tried to get up. Not in a way that might have normally made me uneasy, considering I was half naked in his bedroom. It was just him keeping me in place, not menacing me. I didn’t think I could ever feel unsafe with him after tonight.
“I know we’re in trouble. But up until fifteen minutes ago I thought you might be dead. Anything else is a secondary concern to me right now.”
“What about Hank?”
