Page 55 of Grave Situation

When I glance up, Jaimin is watching me with that amused quirk to his mouth. Oops. I kept my tongue in my mouth, but there was some jaw movement.

“That’s such a strange experience,” I say in my own defense.

“I’m sure it is,” he agrees. “Does it hurt?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. It’s just…” I shudder. “It takes getting used to.” I look him over. “How are you feeling? You look a little more like yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he says immediately, and when I laugh, sheepishly adds, “No, really. A little tired still, and some residual sporadic neuralgia?—”

“What?”

“Nerve pain. It’s not bad, and it’s not constant. It’ll be completely gone by tomorrow morning, I’d say, and it won’t stop me from doing anything today.”

I’m not completely convinced of that. Nerve pain, even if it’s not bad, doesn’t sound good. “We don’t have anything to do,” I remind him. “Just rest and enjoy the hospitality of this fine establishment.” I can’t wait to see what we’re having for lunch. Anything has to be better than what’s in our packs.

“You could let me heal that bruise on your shoulder,” he suggests. “It has to be hurting quite a bit.”

I resist the urge to rotate my shoulder, which is sore from when I fell on it during the fight, and wasn’t helped any by our ride immediately after. “Nope. It’s fine. No pain at all,” I lie. I’m not letting him heal me when he probably needs healing himself.

He gives me a level look. “Talon.”

“Jaimin.” I smile innocently, and he laughs.

“I promise, this won’t hurt me.”

“It won’t, because you’re not doing it. The only thing you’re doing today is resting and eating… and if you want, I’ll go and get a book from that shelf the innkeeper has downstairs. You can read on that nice window seat.” I gesture toward the window, and he sighs.

“I can’t remember the last time I read purely for pleasure,” he admits, and I puff up my chest. I’m the hero who’s giving him this small luxury! “But I wish you’d let me heal you.”

I set my jaw, and he holds up a hand. “Okay, I can see I’m not going to win this argument. Will you let me put some bruise balm on you? And drink a tea to help boost blood circulation. I brought both with me.”

That sounds like a reasonable compromise. “If it makes you happy.”

He’s already half risen from his chair, but he pauses and meets my gaze. “It would make me very happy.”

I wait until he’s bent over his pack before swallowing hard. This may not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

“Shirt off,” he says as he turns back toward me with a jar in hand.

Shirt. Off.

Definitely not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I can’t back out now. Grimly, I stand, unlacing the neck of my shirt, and then, in one motion, pull it free of my trousers and over my head. In my mind, it’s a smooth, easy move. In reality, I get slightly stuck with my shirt around my head and have to yank it free.

When I emerge from the annoying fabric, flushed and annoyed, Jaimin’s face is neutral. His eyes, on the other hand, are laughing, and I like how it makes them look so much that I can’t even be upset.

“Sit,” he instructs, pointing to the bench at the end of the bed, and I obey. He unscrews the lid from the jar, and as the fresh herbal smell of the balm rises to my nose, he dips his fingers in.

That’s when I realize he’s going to put his hands on my bare skin. “Uh, I can probably?—”

“Reach the back of your own shoulder? No, you can’t. Not with it strained like this, anyway. Just sit still.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” I argue, even though I totally was. “I was going to say that I can probably ask the innwife for hot water to steep the tea.”

That little smile is back. “Of course you were. This might feel cold.” His fingers touch my shoulder, and yes, the balm is chilly, but his hand is not. I feel the burn of his skin on mine through my whole body, and it doesn’t ease as he gently rubs in the balm. “Is that helping?” he asks, and I don’t think I’m imagining theslight strain in his voice—but I can’t bring myself to look up at his face.

Instead, I focus on my shoulder. The balm has a cooling effect, and it’s starting to numb the ache. “Yes. Thank you.”

His hand withdraws, and I instantly miss it. “Good.” He screws the lid back on the jar while I reach for my shirt. “We’ll, uh, reapply it later. And then tomorrow I’ll heal any strain that’s left.”

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