Page 65 of Song Bird Hearts
“You’re touching a cracked rib, little star. I’d rather fight another cleaner,” he grumbles.
“Big words for someone about to faint,” I tease.
“I don’t faint,” he mutters.
“That’s funny,” Gilden drawls, strolling over. “Because you sure do look like a fainter,mon loup.”
Wolf scowls. “I’m notyourwolf.”
“You’re bleeding onhersheets,mon ami. That means you are. We’re one big happy family, remember?” And then because Gilden can’t help himself, he pokes him.
Right in the broken rib.
Wolf lets out a bark of pain that he immediately tries to swallow, going stiff as a board.
I look up sharply. “Gilden.”
“What?” Gilden shrugs, eyes sparkling. “I had to make sure he wasn’t fakin’ it.”
Wolf growls low under his breath and leans back against the wall, his chest rising and falling like every breath costs him something. I give him a pointed look and finish taping him up with careful hands.
“You done torturing me?” he mutters.
“For now,” I say, but my eyes soften. “But only because I’m out of gauze.”
He opens his mouth, but closes it again, not knowing what to say. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with how my hands linger, with Gilden hovering, with Knox watching with eagle eyes from the doorway. Wolf looks uncomfortable, not because of his wounds, but because we’re all trying to ease his pain.
I glance at Gilden, and I can see he notices it, too, how tense Wolf is because of our attentions.
My lips press into a thin line. “Has anyone ever taken care of you?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” he croaks. “I’m tough.”
I nod. “I know you are.”
As if he needs to add more as evidence, he says, “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” I nod. “But that doesn’t mean you have to. We’re a family now, just like Gilden said. We take care of each other.”
“Family,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering with unshed emotion. The golden color of his eyes is bright even in the dim lighting of the table lamps. “I don’t. . . I’m not sure what that means.”
Gilden’s teasing eyes soften at his words and he glances at me before he speaks.
“Well,” he says, resting a hand gently on Wolf’s shoulder, “families forgive. Even thecouillonswho keep secrets.”
Wolf frowns. “Just like that?” His eyes trail over to Knox where he stands silently leaning against the wall.
Knox straightens. “If it were me,” he says roughly, “I’d have done the same thing. Maybe not with the same flair, but. . . same result.”
Wolf blinks. “You would?”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Knox mutters. “You’re still a pain in my ass.”
I laugh softly at the exchange. “He grows on you,” I say to Wolf, nudging his good shoulder.
“Like black mold,” Gilden says with a grin. “After a category four hurricane.”
“Like music,” I correct, grinning. “You start off unsure, but soon you’re humming along without realizing it.”
