Page 99 of Reckless
“It’s just a scratch, Gray—”
“A scratch?” she chokes, dropping the rock. “You’re bleeding through your shirt. I’d hardly call that a scratch.”
“Are you worried about me?” She looks away, rolling her eyes. “You seem worried.”
“Yes,” she says simply, meeting my smug stare. “I’m worried you’ll become a deadweight. And seeing that we’re chained together, I’d rather not have to drag your body back to Dor.”
“How thoughtful.”
Her eyes have already returned to my stained shirt. “I didn’t stab you, so who the hell did?”
“Stable hand. He had a small blade between his knuckles. The wound wasn’t deep, but it must have reopened last night.”
She shakes her head at me, disappointment drowning her features. “What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously.” She half laughs. “I’d love to know. This could have gotten infected. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’ve survived far worse, Gray.”
Her gaze softens. “That doesn’t mean you keep suffering just because you know you can.”
I study her face, the way she bites the inside of her cheek in concentration or blinks rapidly in frustration. When her fingers curl around the hem of my shirt, I feel my heart stutter in my chest. “I need this up,” she says softly, pushing the fabric to expose my stomach.
I swallow. “Always trying to get me naked, aren’t you, darling?”
“No, but I am always saving your ass, Prince.” She squints at the wound, struggling to see past the blood. “Yeah, it doesn’t look too deep.”
“He just grazed me,” I say casually. “I told you it was shallow.”
She gives me a look. “That doesn’t mean it won’t get infected.” She fumbles for her pack, feeling around inside until she pulls out the disgustingly yellow skirt. Using her teeth, she rips a strip of cloth from beneath the waistband and sparingly soaks it in water from one of our few canteens. “We don’t have any ointment, or the right plants to make some, so cleaning it up will have to do.”
I watch her closely as she wipes the wound clean of blood. Watch her breathing quicken and her hands tremble slightly. She looks away, growing paler by the second. Her fingers sit atop the fabric, shying away from the blood she’s sopping up.
“Suddenly squeamish, Gray?” I ask quietly, studying her ashen face.
Her voice trembles slightly. “Something like that.”
Something is very wrong. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to talk about it. So I slowly lift my hand, placing my palm atop her wrist. “Let me.”
I see her swallow, see her contemplate arguing before she simply nods and drops the cloth. She scoots back on the bedroll, putting distance between me and my wound. I tear my eyes from her to pick up the fabric, grimacing as I prop myself up on an elbow and continue cleaning the gash.
I look up at her, wanting to take her mind off whatever it is that has her looking so panicked. “Why didn’t you ever leave Ilya?” The question has been burning in my throat ever since I discovered what she was.
She glances up at me, her eyes darting down to the wound before quickly looking away. “I don’t really have a good reason. I think I was just… stubborn.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Shocking.”
The glare she gives me doesn’t match the growing smile on her face. “I was stubborn and told myself that Ilya was just as much my home as it was the Elites’. Not to mention that I was too young to survive a trip across the Shallows or Scorches—I barely survived this time around. And I think Father would have wanted me to stay in Ilya. I mean, he trained me into a Psychic for a reason. He started the Resistance for a reason.” She ducks her head, smiling sadly. “It was also my little way of defying the king and everything he said about Ordinaries. I was living against all the odds, right under his nose.” Her eyes meet mine. “And something about that kept me fighting.”
I nod slowly, sitting up slightly when I finish cleaning the wound. “Staying in Ilya was something you could control. It was your decision, unlike everything else in your life.”
“You are the last person I figured would understand that.” She laughs softly.
I shrug a shoulder. “In case you’ve forgotten, I also didn’t have a choice in the fate I got dealt. So, I found my own ways to feel in control.”
“Like what?” she asks quietly.
“Like never again taking the life of a child. I’d banish the Ordinary children with their families and lie to my father.” My lips twitch into a smile. “That was my little defiance to the king. Back in Dor, I even ran into a little girl I banished who made it across the Scorches with her family. Abigail’s the one who led me to you.”
“So I haveAbigailto thank for your appearance at my ring?” She’s fighting a smile, and it’s an adorable attempt.
