Page 45 of A Prize for the Lycan Enemy

Swallowing, I keep washing the male’s arms and scrubbing the blood off him, hoping that by the time I get to his torso and lower body, he’ll wake up and clean himself on his own.

The male doesn’t wake up.

Not for a long time. Somewhere around dawn, I start wondering if the cold water might harm him, but I can’t move him or wake him up. I tried. He’s in some sort of slumber, the deep rumble from his chest reminding me of a dragon rumbling in hibernation. Not that I’ve ever been around one of those creatures (and hope I never will), but I imagine that’s what they sound like.

My eyes are closing now.

It’s been a long night.

I must call his brother and see if he can move him or at least watch over him in the tub so he won’t slip under. Standing, I go to leave when Seith’s hand flies out and lands on my lap.

I scream at the top of my lungs and press my hands against my chest, preventing my heart from flying out and running away from the lycan, who leaps out of the tub as if someone speared his ass cheek. Claws out, his skin sparkling with silver magic, he looks around, probably trying to orient himself.

“It’s all the same,” he says.

“What?” Um, I would disagree. Things have changed, but I have no idea what he’s talking about. Who wakes up from a slumber after almost dying and says,It’s all the same. What’s the same? What’s what? Eh, I’m sure he’ll tell me.

“Nothing in the cabin changed, Marybell.”

He sounds normal, and even as if he’s chastising me. “What?” I ask again.

“Why haven’t you nested?”

“Oh. Oh, that.” Did he forget he came back to the village bloody after a fight and then saved his brother’s life by exposing himself to blood magic?

“That,” he bites out.

“It’s been a busy span, and you were injured. I’m happy to see you recovered.” While he’s still facing the lake, I take stock of his body. It’s the finest male body I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’m trying and failing not to notice just how spectacular and wet it is. When I spot a circular bruise on his lower back, I recognize the Kilseleian king’s sigil. Philippa likely placed it on different parts of Seith’s body. That’s where the mage draws magic from.

Seith turns and begins to walk toward me, but staggers.

When I jump to help him, he lifts his hands. “Stay back.” He’s wavering on his feet, going to fall any moment now.

I take one outstretched arm and put it around my shoulders. “Let’s walk to the couch.”

The lycan shakes his head and moves his arm away.

He’s proud and stubborn. Fine. “If you take the couch and rest more, it would be nice.”

“Don’t leave, Marybell.”

“Oh. Do you think I would leave while you’re injured?”

“It’s an opportunity to escape. I’m…compromised.”

Seith staggers forward. I try to catch him, but can’t, and we both fall on the couch in a way that makes us spoon. His arm falls over me, and then his leg folds on top of mine, and I’m trapped, staring at the fireplace while the lycan rests again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.

He’s warm at my back, and I drift off to sleep.

19

SEITH

I’m unsure what’s worse: having the female I intend to breed seeing me at my weakest or having her take care of me at my worst.

Then there’s the stupid saying about loving someone at their worst or some such. Yeah, Marybell and I aren’t there yet. We’re not even close to there yet. We only recently stepped onto the life raft that’s taking us across the river. If we make it across, happiness awaits. But the winds are brutal and threatening to sink our little raft, and I doubt whether we can reach the other side.

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