What Lies Beyond the Veil (Of Flesh & Bone, #1)(33)
He shifted, drawing me into his arms, and lifted me off my feet. He tossed me gently, just far enough that my back hit the straw pile once again. Straw billowed up on impact, filling my face and hair with the itchy needle-like stalks that seemed to get everywhere.
His eyes dropped to my neck, and I swallowed back the unrelenting panic I felt when I could sense his gaze on that burning part of me that had been revealed in our skirmish by the shifting of my cloak. His square jaw tightened, teeth clenching down as he stared at the Mark, and something primal filled his gaze. “You’re safe with me,” he said, reaching up to grasp the collar of his hood. He tugged it to the side, revealing a swirling mix of black and white color on his golden skin.
“You’re Fae Marked,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the design as I brushed straw out of my hair and face and sat up. He reached into the pocket of his cloak once more, pulling out a waxed cloth canteen and holding it out to me.
“You need to drink. I suspect those lips are much prettier when they’re hydrated.” He stepped closer, holding out the canteen pointedly. Cautiously, I took it from him, staring into the small opening warily and sniffing the contents. Finally, lifting it to my lips, I poured the first drops of water into my mouth and groaned at the fresh taste.
The crisp water felt cool despite having been tucked into his pocket. I swallowed greedily and forced myself to stop before I was ready, in the interest of not taking all of his water. “All of it,” he ordered, touching the bottom of the canteen and tipping it up so that I had no choice but to swallow the entirety of it.
When I was done, he moved to the edge of the barn and the water pump I hadn't seen tucked behind a saddle rack, refilling the container immediately and tucking it back in his pocket for safekeeping. “Thank you,” I murmured, my eyes dropping to the spot where I’d sunk my teeth into his finger. I grimaced, wiping the sleeve of my dress against the corner of my mouth. The pea green fabric smeared with blood and grime hinted at how much of a mess I must look.
The night in the woods hadn’t done any wonders for my appearance, if the filth was any sign.
He closed the distance between us, taking a seat beside me and drawing my hands into his grip. I shifted, watching him with wary eyes as I tried to make sense of what he wanted.
Up close, the ruthless beauty of his features was overwhelming. He was nothing like the boys and men of Mistfell, and, as he unfastened his cloak and tossed it to the side, the first glimpse of just how broad his shoulders were made the breath catch in my throat. His tunic strained at the seams to accommodate his body, his trousers tight through the thighs as he turned on the straw to face me.
He poured water into his hand, raising it to my neck and cleaning what remained of the wound from the High Priest. When he’d finished with that, he held one of my hands out to the side and shoved the cloak out of the way and the sleeve of my dress up my arm. Taking out his canteen once more, he slowly poured water over my hand until I started to feel a little more human as the blood and dirt washed away, revealing my skin beneath the layers of filth that had accumulated since we’d left Mistfell.
When he was satisfied with how clean my hand was, he turned it over and inspected the thin cuts and the white scars that covered it intently. “What happened?” he asked, lifting the limb to look at the wounds closer. Soft, plush lips touched the back, the strong cupid’s bow of his mouth emphasized as it curved up into the barest hint of a smile.
“Twilight berries,” I said, swallowing as the feeling of his lips spread through me with an odd, tingling numbness. He took my other hand in his, repeating the process slowly and working his thumbs over the injuries as he inspected them to make sure they were clean enough to prevent infection.
“You’re a harvester,” he said, nodding as he splashed some of the water on his own hand. His enormous palm came toward my face slowly, waiting for me to panic and back away from the touch. The moment his skin touched mine, I leaned into it, even though I didn’t understand the urge.
The skin surrounding his callouses was surprisingly soft. His thumb dragged over my cheekbone, drawing a ragged gasp from me as his palm cupped my cheek. He set to cleaning my face with his wet hands, moving slowly and with a gentleness that I wouldn’t have thought him capable. I couldn’t help but stare, wondering what had possessed me to allow him to touch me, and to care for me like I mattered when he was nothing but a stranger to me
“Much better,” he said after he’d finished, clearing his throat and drawing his hand away slowly.
“I’m sorry for biting you,” I said, conceding that I’d perhaps misinterpreted the situation.
“I’m certain that’s not something you say every day,” he said, pursing his lips in thought.
I cracked a smile, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all. “No, I can’t say that it is.”
“Well, the least you can do after wounding me is tell me your name. I must have something to tell people when they ask who bested me, and I am sad to say claiming a harvester I call ‘Little One’ doesn’t make me sound intimidating. I have a reputation to uphold, after all,” he teased, resting his hand on top of my knee.
It was a move that Lord Byron had done on more than one occasion after feeding me twilight berries, but whereas his touch had felt lecherous, this stranger simply rested his hand there. It wasn’t a pathetic attempt to touch me, but rather just a convenient place for it.