Page 75 of The Cursed Kingdom

Kie turns to me once he finishes setting up the sleeping area.

“Here you are.” He smiles, patting the mat.

I glare at him, annoyed with how much enjoyment he’s getting out of this, before stumbling forward and lying down. The mat is surprisingly comfortable, and I carefully adjust until I find a position that doesn’t pull the sutures on my arm or torso.

After a moment’s hesitation, I sit up and yank off my shirt.

Kie stares at the human, his head cocked slightly to the side as he watches her lie across the ground and rest her head on her backpack. She doesn’t look comfortable, but that’s not my problem. Sleep is important, and it’s on her for not taking that into consideration when packing.

She doesn’t have nearly as much stamina as we do, and we’re not going easy on her. She’s got to be operating off pureadrenaline at this point, and it’s only a matter of time before it runs out.

Despite knowing I shouldn’t, a pang of guilt works its way down my spine.

Kie ventures off into the forest. He doesn’t say where he’s going, but I assume it’s to relieve himself. We’ve limited our food and water intake to slow our digestive systems, but we can’t stop it entirely.

I stare at the covering above my head, thankful for the shadow it casts over me, before turning to evaluate my side.

Kie truly did a shit job stitching me up, and I can’t help but glare at the black sutures holding my skin together. I’ll be able to remove most of them tomorrow, minus the few holding together the deepest parts of my wound.

Hopefully, that will help with the near-constant itching and pulling.

The human rolls over, drawing my attention. Her mouth is open slightly, and her eyes dart back and forth behind her eyelids. I can’t believe she’s already asleep, and I wonder what she’s dreaming of—probably sinking a knife into my chest. That thought angers me more than it should, and I clench my hands into tight fists before forcing myself to turn away from her.

I shouldn’t be letting her get under my skin. She’s not important enough for that.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

ABBY

SOMETHING FALLS ON my chest, startling me awake.

I sit upright in a flash, my hands darting to my chest as I turn toward the shadow looming over my head. Mason stands above me, much too close for comfort. He’s also redressed, his wound covered with his now-dry black shirt. I hope it hurts.

I squint, struggling to get a good look at him with the sun shining into my eyes. It’s high in the sky, the positioning signaling that I’ve been asleep for hours. That’s not what I wanted, and we’ve already lost a significant number of good daylight hours.

My body needs rest, but I’m not in a place to comfortably provide it. I’m doing my best to remain alert, and I’m failing miserably. I purposefully aimed myself at Mason’s sleeping form so I’d notice when he woke and started moving.

I slept straight through that, though. He’s been looming over me for who knows how long, and I had no idea. His shoes are only inches from my head, and I blink the sleep out of my eyes as I glance at the object he dropped onto my chest.

It’s my antibiotic ointment.

I brought a brand new, extra-large tube with me, and it’s already half empty. Mason’s aggressive use has crinkled and indented the hard plastic, and he used about six times more than necessary on my knees.

I’m surprised Kie didn’t put any on Mason’s side. Shifters must not have use for it. I bet they don’t get infections.

Mason grunts, drawing my attention.

In his hands is a roll of the bandages he’s been using to wrap my knees, and he makes eye contact as he drops it onto the ground beside me. Is he not going to ask me about delysum? I assumed it would be the first thing out of his mouth when I woke up.

I peer around Mason, hoping to catch sight of Kie. He’s the more level-headed of the two, and he seems to have reasonable control of the shifter. If it weren’t for him, Mason would’ve torn me apart the second he found me in the forest.

He tried to.

Mason makes another grunt, the noise a favorite of his today, and gestures to the medical supplies he’s dropped beside me.

The spiteful side of me wants to pretend I don’t know what he wants, but the side afraid of being torn to bits by a giant, wolf-like animal wins out. I’m at a disadvantage here, a big one, and I’d like to stay alive.

It’s hard to remain polite when there’s a giant, smirking asshole hovering above you, though. Pride is dangerous, and I struggle to hold mine back as I set the ointment down and shift my attention to my knees. The bandages moved while I was sleeping, but the wounds are still covered. Mostly.

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