Page 27 of The Witch's Shifter
One of his shoulders lifts in a shrug.
From here, I can see the wound on his neck, and it appears to have reopened during his frantic flight from the cottage. It wasn’t even the worst of his wounds, so I imagine the others are in an even poorer state.
“Will you let me look?”
His finger stills in its tracing of the tabletop, and he finally looks up and meets my eyes. “Why?”
That one word sends a bite of irritation through me.
“Really?” I toss the rag I used to dry the dishes onto the countertop, then prop my hands on my hips. “Because I care, Faolan. Is that so hard to believe?”
He narrows his eyes a bit but doesn’t look away. “Yes.”
It seems he’s going to continue to be difficult. Very well.
My feet and back are starting to ache from all my pacing today, and I ease myself into the chair across from Faolan. Despite my fatigue, I’m not letting this conversation go. “Why is that hard to believe?”
“Because you already have two other men.” He says it so nonchalantly, as if there’s nothing else to be said on the matter.
“I thought I was your mate?” I ask, arching a brow at him.
I played his words over and over in my head last night as the rain pelted the rooftop, but I’ve still not come to terms with the whole thing, or how I feel about it. I still only vaguely understand what it means—for him and for me.
At my words, he grumbles deep in his throat. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you can’t reject me. It’s rare, but I’ve seen it happen.” Now his gaze flicks away from mine, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.
“Do you truly believe I’m rejecting you?” The laugh I let out is small and soft. “I just fed you blackberry cobbler; that’s a specialty of mine, I’ll have you know, and I don’t share it with just anyone.”
Finally, his lips twitch up on one side. It’s not a smile, not quite, but it’s progress.
“Faolan,” I say softly, which draws his blue-eyed gaze back to mine. “I don’t know how this is all going to unfold, and truthfully, at this point I’m more worried about Harrison than anyone else...”
Faolan arches a black brow but doesn’t say anything.
“But I want to at least try. And I’d like to start by having a look at your wounds. So, would you please...?” I gesture to his borrowed tunic.
For a few moments, he just stares at me, looking like he’s trying to decide whether to cooperate or not. Then he sighs, stands, and strips the tunic off over his head.
And oh my goddess.
He was shirtless the entire time he was here, but watching him take his clothes off like that, it does something to me, sends a burst of heat curling through me. His bare skin is umber brown and glows with a healthy flush in the kitchen sunlight.
But he’s hurt—badly. Worse than when he left here. Diving through the window left innumerable cuts and scrapes all across his body.
“Sit down,” I say, pushing to my feet with a grunt.
“No, you sit.” Faolan steps toward me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and eases me right back down into my chair. “Tell me where everything is. I’ll get it.”
I explain where the clean cloths and bandages are, and he fetches them all without complaint, then spreads them out on the table before me.
“And I’ll need the yarrow and slippery elm from that shelf.” I point. “The mortar and pestle are there. And a small bowl of water as well.”
As he grabs the items and pours warm water into the bowl, I watch the muscles in his arms and back move beneath his skin. Even injured as he is, he’s still a sight to behold.
“Anything else?” The water sloshes a bit in the bowl as he sets it upon the table.
“That’s good for now. Bring your chair over here.”
Doing as he’s told, he slides the kitchen chair over and settles his weight upon it.
