Page 9 of Raven

"Back home, they only offer the foundational courses. Here, I can complete the third, fourth, and fifth years, and then pursue greater opportunities in Manchester. At least, that's the plan."

"It sounds like a solid plan to me." My own future, specifically how I'd transition from studying to running my own business, was still uncertain, but I had some time to figure it out. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, I thought, focusing on tending to her wound.

As I worked, her gaze followed my movements, the subtle catch in her breath when my fingers grazed her skin. The air between us felt charged, electric. I wondered if she felt it too, this inexplicable pull.

The wound was clean, and, fortunately, the skin around it had been neatly sliced. Hurrah for silver knives that easily split our skin, but ...

Tia picked up on my hesitation, her green eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?"

I tossed the bloodied cloth into the bin beside us, fighting the urge to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "You need stitches. Maybe just one, but the wound is pretty deep. I didn't realise how deep until I cleaned it just now." It glistened with blood. The silver was gone, which was easy enough; it only lingered around the edges. The healing salts cleared that out without a problem, but because it had been cut with silver, and small fragments might be in the wound, it wouldn't matter how much salt I used. The only way to really get rid of it was to cut the skin away, and I doubted she wanted me to do that.

She touched the wound gently, winced. Her fingers trembled slightly, and I had to resist the impulse to take her hand in mine. "Can you stitch it?"

"I can, but I ..." didn't want to. My mother had taught me. She liked the idea of me being self-sufficient and not drawing attention to ourselves. Plus, we were the lowest level of Society coverage. It was barely a step up from living on the streets. Society was our version of government and insurance. Others paid fees to the system, and in return, we got access to housing, protection, jobs, universities, etc. It came in 'donation' levels. What we paid for was basic, but Society gave us a step, and we were determined to make the rest of the ladder ourselves.

"I can't go to a clinic. I don't have the money for it." Her voice held a note of vulnerability that made my heart ache.

The wound had started bleeding again, a small rivulet of red trickling down her cheek. I exhaled sharply, my breath fanning across her skin. "Okay, but it might leave a scar." I had enough of my own scars to know.

"It's fine. It beats walking around with an open gash on my face, right?" She tried to smile, and I found myself captivated by her courage.

We had everything necessary. My mother always made sure our medical supplies were well-stocked. "I'll just grab the thread." Despite the limited space in our flat, we were prepared for nearly any emergency. If there were ever an apocalypse, our home would be the sanctuary.

When I returned, Tia was still perched on the counter, now with blood smeared across her cheek from where she had attempted to wipe it away. The sight of her there, vulnerable yet strong, made my heart race and my panther stir restlessly.

I moved the light closer to her face for a clearer view, hyper-aware of how the soft glow illuminated her features. Cleaning the wound was one thing but stitching required precision. The cut seemed to glisten more under the direct light. If I couldn't feel the pain myself, I would have thought she was unaffected by it, given her stoic expression. My own cheek throbbed, almost prompting me to check for a wound on my face.

"Okay," she announced, signalling her readiness. Her voice held a hint of nervousness that made me want to comfort her.

"Do you mind if I get closer to see better? I need to stand ..." I gestured to the space between her legs, needing to be there for better access to the wound. It wasn't the most comfortable arrangement, but it was the best option short of having her lie down on the kitchen counter. The thought sent an unexpected thrill through me.

She shifted back and opened her legs to make space. "Sure." Her casual tone belied the way her pulse quickened.

I needed her positioned just right, and without thinking—my mistake—I wrapped my hands around her waist, clasped her closer, and slid her towards me. She jolted forward, the force of my action bringing her right against my chest. Instinctively, shetightened her legs around my thighs. The sudden intimacy of our position sent a jolt through me.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" I stammered, suddenly very aware of our proximity, of the warmth of her body against mine.

"No, it's fine." She looked up at me, and inside, my panther roared, being this close to her, our bodies touching in any way ... I took a breath, pushed him back before he got ideas that were way too soon to entertain, but I swore her panther met mine internally. Her nostrils flared, and I wasn't sure if it was my pulse that hitched, hers, or both simultaneously.

I was painfully aware of my panther at that moment. It stared out through my eyes so intensely; they must have changed. He was pushing, striving for a connection with her. This is what happened when a shifter was starved of connection with their own kind. When they encountered one, it felt like desperation.

Pressing my lips into a firm line, I forced him back as much as I could manage. I had to focus on the task at hand—helping Tia, not indulging in the electric tension between us. "Just a second ..." I reached for the antiseptic and thread, my fingers brushing against hers as I did so.

"Are you alright?" Her breath tickled my cheek, and I had to suppress a shiver.

"Yeah," my voice cracked as I forced a smile, grabbed the cloth to clean the wound again, and then the thread. Focus was what I needed, even as every fibre of my being screamed to close the already small distance between us.

This time, I used alcohol to clean the wound. I wasn't just trying to get the silver out; I was making sure she wouldn't get some kind of infection. "Fuck ..." she hissed as I did so. Her eyes watered, and I found myself wanting to kiss away her pain.

"Sorry. I have to clean it properly." I winced, hating to cause her pain. My free hand instinctively moved to cup her face, my thumb gently stroking her uninjured cheek.

She leant back from me, her eyes turning a deep green. The tips of her teeth had sharpened, a sign her panther was stirring. "I know. I just ... Okay. I'm just going to grin and bear it, right?"

I didn't want to hurt her. I never liked or wanted to hurt anyone. "Try this." I took her hand and placed it on my side, ignoring the spark that ignited at our touch. "Grip here. Press tight. I'm almost done." I hoped that the contact with me would help alleviate her pain.

She lifted her other hand to my other side and did the same, bracing herself. "Do it." Her fingers dug into my sides, and I had to stifle a groan at the sensation.

Having both her hands on me wasn't making things easier, but I could push through. She only needed a small, clean stitch. If I could just maintain my focus long enough to complete that, I could then put some distance between us before my panther made moves, I was pretty sure she wasn't ready for.

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