Page 32 of Threadbound

He hadn’t seen fear in Bran’s face when he was on his knees with his head pulled back and a hand around his throat—but there was definitely fear there now.

“Hey,” he said gently, the same protective instincts that had gotten him into this mess now making him feel oddly soft towards Bran. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. They’ll take care of you.”

Bran shook his head, wincing.

“I can’t just leave you here,” Jamie pointed out. “And I don’t know how to set a broken arm or—even if itisbroken.”

He didn’t know how to reason with Bran. There was absolutely no question in his mind that Bran had to go to a hospital. Preferably by ambulance, because he was still bleeding, sticky darkness oozing out between his fingers. But what he saw on the other man’s face wasn’t just anxiety or nervousness—it was obvious that Bran was genuinely panicked at the idea of going to a hospital.

Breath was coming quickly in and out of his lungs, his eyes wide, his skin even more pale than usual, muscles shaking.

“Please,” Jamie begged him. He didn’t know what he’d do if Bran fought him again—maybe he could just wait until Bran passed out, then carry him? That wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t just leave Bran here on the path to bleed to death or get killed if his three attackers came back… “Please,” he repeated.

Bran searched his eyes, and he must have found something he was looking for because he finally—thank God—nodded, letting Jamie gently pick him up again so that he could carry the smaller man down Queen’s Drive toward Meadowbank and the sports complex where there were likely people.

It wasn’t going to be a short walk, but Jamie hoped that someone would pull over and offer to call an ambulance before too long.

Chapter

Sixteen

Bran had spent his entire life being warned about mortal doctors and hospitals. Told stories of asylums where hapless fae had been held prisoner for believing in their own existence, tales of medical experiments that led to insanity or death, and regaled with nightmarish descriptions of what could happen to his body and mind if he allowed himself to be drugged or otherwise treated by human so-called medicine.

Even though he knew that most of the stories he’d heard about mortal medicine were probably either exaggerations or now extremely dated, his own father had repeatedly explained that he couldn’t trust human medicine—some of the things their pills and injections contained could actually make him much worse. Some would be fine. Bran—since he wasn’t a healer—hadn’t the faintest idea which were which, and that meant he had no intention of allowing any of them anywhere near him.

Rationally, he knew that Jamie wanted to help him.

He just couldn’t let it happen. The wrong treatment might kill him or drive him insane. But he couldn’t explain to Jamiewhy. With no sense of what to do, he—despite the shame of it—panicked.

But trying to get away from the large and surprisingly strong half-breed had resulted in being unceremoniously dropped, which definitely didn’t help. And now Bran felt terrible because Jamie was clearly experiencing guilt for dropping him, when it had been entirely Bran’s fault.

So he was allowing himself to be carried while trying to come up with some way to convince Jamienotto take him to a human hospital. Because his arm was definitely broken, and he was fairly certain the wound in his side couldn’t go untreated, either. The rest of him was battered and bruised, it hurt to breathe, and he felt lightheaded—all signs that he needed healing.

What he wanted was to go back to Elfhame and his father. Cairn or his sister Maigdeann or Eadar-Sholas mac Madadh Allaidh, his father’s apprentice, would be able to set his arm and use fae magics to speed the healing processes and dull the pain.

But it would take more strength and energy than Bran had—or was likely to be able to summon any time soon—to open the Gate and make the Crossing. The only other way would be if someone were to fetch a healer and bring them to Dunehame, and there was no one capable of doing it. Habetrot and Taranis both knew that the Sidhe who had beaten him bloody weren’t going to tell his father he was badly injured. Jamie probably would, if he’d been capable of it, but he was a magicless half-breed.

Bran also knew full well that his attackers hadn’t intended to leave him battered and bloody, although they’d definitely been enjoying inflicting pain. But thegeàrd soilleirdidn’t intentionally leave their victims alive. The fact that Bran was still breathing was honestly rather surprising—a testament both to his own skills and Jamie’s surprising arrival.

Seeing Jamie appear at the top of the path where thegeàrdhad dragged him had been as much a shock to Bran as it had been to the three would-be assassins.

Bran had come out to the crag because it reminded him of Jamie. Because despite the fact that Jamie clearly didn’t want anything to do with him, Bran couldn’t help himself. He’d half-hoped that he would find Jamie out for a run… which he supposed he had, although thegeàrdhad found him first.

And then Jamie had appeared.

His reaction had immediately been to protect Bran. Not to run for help, but to physically put himself in danger in order to stop thegeàrd. It was brave and heartwarming and Lugh-cursed stupid.

Nevermind the fact that there were three Sidhe assassins trying to kill him, Jamie had challenged them, ordered them to let him go, and then—despite being a fundamentally non-aggressive person—he had actually fought off one of thegeàrd.

Bran had never been more terrified.

Because thegeàrdshould have easily been able to destroy Jamie. The Sidhe warrior certainly would have if he’d come armed to Dunehame. But they hadn’t been—Bran wasn’t sure why. Perhaps they were attempting to blend in, understanding that humans didn’t run around carrying magicked silver steel. Or perhaps they simply assumed that Bran wouldn’t be capable of defending himself.

Much to his annoyance, they hadn’t been entirely wrong—and it was even more infuriating knowing that if he’d been at his full strength, he would probably have been able to handle threegeàrd. But he wasn’t and he hadn’t been for some time. And, on top of that, Bran was woefully out of practice with hand-to-hand combat thanks to the better part of two months spent in the mortal realm.

He’d been desperately trying to think of some way to escape—to survive—when Jamie had arrived. It had been the surprise of it, more than anything, that had allowed Bran to break free of the Sidhe holding him, going for his soft throat and hopefullycrushing his windpipe. Bran certainly wasn’t going to shed any tears over a Taranis-damnedgeàrdwho would happily have killed him slowly and painfully.

Bran’s thoughts were interrupted by a car pulling over to the side of the road in front of them.

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