Page 97 of A Hunter for Luna

Instead, I pulled out lavender oil and applied it to the wound and the area surrounding, then a thin layer of honey.

The scent of lavender soothed me a little, and it was known to help with infections, as was honey. As I wrapped the bandage, I said quietly, "I never asked you to try to protect me. I can take care of myself."

"Clearly," he said sarcastically.

“And the fever must be affecting your brain, since I remember saving you.” Anger and hurt warred within me, but I’d had my share of wounds too. I wasn’t sweet when they hurt either.

He looked away, his jaw clenched. Exhaustion etched into the lines of his face, but there was something else there too. Something haunted and desperate.

"You're not invincible." I stood and wiped the oil and honey from my hands. "No matter how much you pretend to be."

I turned away, busying myself with packing up the medical supplies. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words.

"We should get moving," Benedetto said finally. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg.

"No," I said firmly, poking him in the chest. "You need to rest. Pushing yourself will only make it worse."

He glared at me, his expression flashing with a mix of anger and something else I couldn't quite decipher. "We don't have time to rest. We need to finish this."

"And what good will you be if you collapse from exhaustion?" I said, my temper flaring. "You act like a hot-headed fool when you need to think. I thought you were cold and calculating, not a green boy rushing to a fight."

Benedetto scoffed, shaking his head. "Says the woman riding with me to a fight that’s not hers. Who doesn’t think before she acts."

I stared at him, struggling with the urge to kick his leg enough to make a sharp point. "We'll rest for today. Then we'll continue on to the pass. The horses could use some rest too."

Benedetto looked like he wanted to argue, but something in my expression must have stopped him. He lowered himself back down to the ground with a grimace.

I made camp, staking Dawn and Biter to graze and kindling a small fire, where I brewed willow tea and steeped marigolds for another wash for his wound.

The silence stretched and Benedetto watched me go about the camp shores until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

I made stew for lunch, using dried meat and vegetables, adding some wild onion from nearby. A hot meal wouldn’t hurt him. The scent filled the camp, and for a moment, I could almost pretend the situation wasn’t dire.

Clouds rolled in, dark and pregnant with rain and I set up our small shelter. When he woke, I planned to point out that riding in the rain would have made everything worse for him and he should just admit I was right, and he was wrong.

And then I’d check to see if the mood was suddenly made of cheese.

I carried over a bowl and nudged Benedetto awake. He blinked, stretched, and winced. He moved to a sitting position with a hiss of pain, frustration tightening his expression.

When I handed Benedetto a bowl, he sniffed hopefully. We took turns cooking, and sometimes what I made was good, and sometimes…not so good. I tried to duplicate the good versions, and this one had turned out well a couple times as we traveled.

But he took a bite, his expression carefully neutral. His face lightened as he just chewed slowly and gave me a small smile.

It was a small gesture, but it was enough to make my chest ache. Maybe there was hope for us.

I ate my share, setting some aside for the evening and banking the fire.

When he finished the soup, Benedetto gritted his teeth as he tried to push himself up, his injured leg buckling beneath him. "Damn it," he huffed a breath out. "Help me up."

"Not unless it’s to move to the tent," I said flatly. "You need to rest. I won't help you get back on that horse until you've both had a proper break."

"You're being impossible," he said, irritation flashing across his face.

"And you're being foolish," I said. "Rest. You couldn’t fight in this condition anyway."

He grumbled. Before I helped him into the shelter, I changed the bandage and used the marigold wash in addition to all the other treatments. It looked a little better, but still swollen and red. I’d never seen him really hurt before. I watched him struggle to find a comfortable position. Pushing himself to the brink, never willing to admit when he needed help.

But even through the frustration, I couldn't ignore the worry gnawing at my gut. A wound like that could turn deadly.

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