Dragon Bound (Elder Races #1)(47)

“Elven wayfarer bread,” she breathed. Vegetarian, nourishing in a way that fed the soul as well as the body and imbued with healing properties. “I’ve heard about it, of course; who hasn’t? It’s legendary. But I’ve never had the chance to taste any before.”

He broke off another piece and fed it to her, watching as she closed her eyes and moaned again with delight. “Eat every bite of that. It’ll do you good,” he told her. “I found a dozen wafers. We have plenty.”

She stared at him. A dozen wafers would fetch a fortune on the black market. Most people couldn’t beg, borrow or steal the wayfarer bread. Oh. She looked down at what she held and her enjoyment dimmed. “You found it in the Goblin captain’s rooms?”

“Among other things. Remember I said half the loot was untouched?” He frowned. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“Oh, I will,” she assured him. She broke off another piece. “It’s too precious to waste, and I need it. It’s just hard to enjoy someone else’s misfortune.”

He smiled a little and touched the corner of her mouth. “For all you know, some Elf suffered a minor annoyance when his or her pack got stolen, and they’ve forgotten all about it by now. You go ahead and relish every bite.”

“That’s true.” The unknown Elf hadn’t necessarily been hurt or killed. She took a deep breath. “Aren’t you going to eat any?”

“Not my kind of food,” he told her. “I’ll go hunting if I feel the need.”

Right. Carnivore. She went back to her meal.

He reclined on his side, propped his head in his hand and watched her enjoy the wayfarer bread. He waited until she had put the last piece in her mouth. Then he started to pull other things out of the pack and lay them in her lap. A light woolen Elven blanket, a tunic and leggings, a packet of soap—soap!—and a hairbrush. She stared at the treasures.

“I know how much you hated it in there,” he said.

“Oh. My. God.” She looked at him, teary. “I think this is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me. Aside from the fact you saved my life I don’t know how many times.”

“You saved me too, you know,” he said. He sounded thoughtful.

The need to wash became a crisis. “I’ve got to get clean.”

“Pia, you’re weaving where you sit. Why don’t you wait until you’ve slept a little? We’re going to rest here while I keep watch.”

Her hands started to shake. “You don’t get it. I can’t stand another minute stinking like them. It makes my skin crawl.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning. “If you need to get clean, you need to get clean. It’s going to be cold. I’ll gather some wood while you wash, and we’ll have a fire.”

She paused. “We’re not going to worry about the firelight being visible?”

He shook his head and uncoiled from the ground. “I’ll hear anyone long before they get near enough to be a problem.”

She turned her back to him and knelt at the stream, already consumed with the thought of scouring the Goblin stink off her body. Self-consciousness tried to take over as she stripped off her ruined T-shirt and filthy bra, but she squashed it. At least it wasn’t broad daylight. He had no doubt seen thousands of naked women before. (Thousands? No, definitely not the time to go there.) Nothing mattered more than getting that stink off of her.

The soap was Elven made too and heaven sent. It softened fast, lathered well in the cold stream, was gentle on her healing cuts and had a delicate fragrance that had her sighing with pleasure.

She washed and rinsed her torso and pulled on the clean tunic. She stripped out of her capris, anklet socks and sneakers. The anklet socks were especially awful. She had bled into one of her shoes, and one anklet was crusted with dried blood. They joined the pile of clothing that was going into the fire as soon as Dragos lit it.

She pulled the blanket over her shoulders and let it drape behind her in an attempt to preserve a little privacy and finished washing the rest of her body. Her body was racked with violent shivering by the time she yanked the leggings on, but nothing was going to stop her from dunking her head in the water and lathering and rinsing her grimy hair at least once.

She dunked her head underwater, gasping at the sharp chill. She was bent over the stream, struggling with shaking hands to work the soap through her wet hair, when Dragos’s hands came over hers. “Let me,” he said.

She leaned on her hands and gave herself over to his ministrations. His long hard fingers massaged her scalp and worked the soap with patience through the long wet rope of hair that trailed in the stream. Her teeth were chattering by the time he finished scooping enough water to rinse through the length.

He wrung out her hair and slipped an arm underneath her waist to lift her to her feet. She scooped up the dirty clothes. “Over here,” he said. He had laid campfire kindling, which was waiting to be lit. As soon as she threw the clothes on top of the woodpile, he flicked a few fingers at the woodpile and it blazed alight.

“Cool trick.” Her teeth clicked together.

“Comes in handy.”

He wrapped the blanket around her. He had her sit with her back to him. Then he brushed out her hair.

With the fire in front, wrapped by the blanket and Dragos’s heat enveloping her from behind, she was toasty warm in no time.