Bounty Hunter (The Black Tulip Chronicles #1)

31. Vera

Chapter 31

Vera

W e wander through the cave for what seems at least a mile, and we finally find an exit that spits us out onto a grass-covered hill that’s so steep I almost roll down. We only spot a white flower here and there after that, but I no longer want to stop and admire any. I’m jumpy and worry with every one we see that the light that rests inside it will spring out and explode into another sultry-looking woman who wants Ikar’s children.

By now, we’ve lost hours of precious daylight. The second sun is already about to set, but neither of us want to make camp anywhere near that awful little valley. Soon, though, I start slowing. My bandage soaked through long ago, and I’m feeling weak and tired. And Rupi hasn’t appeared again yet. She found me before, so all I can do is hope she does again. When Ikar finally chooses a spot, I simply want to lay down and sleep.

He seems to sense my fatigue and grabs my bedroll from my pack. I’m about to gratefully thank him until he speaks.

“Lay down, and I’ll see to your arm. Then you can sleep.”

I’ve been going between nausea and dizziness, add to that a splitting headache triggered by the near suffocation earlier and my arm spilling my life blood down my fingertips all day, and I’m in no mood for further pain. I’m done. I’d rather wait. And who is he to have that sort of commanding tone with me?

“It’ll keep until we reach the fae. I’ll clean it when we find more water,” I say, as I take a shaky seat down on an uncomfortable boulder and let my shoulders hunch over. I’ve never wished that I could use my own healing magic on myself more than this moment. My heavy eyes readily take me toward sleep as soon as I relax. He takes a moment to toss out my bedroll, and I’m about to sleepily thank him before I fall onto it and pass out for the night. Instead, he takes a step toward me, and I tense up, feeling the command in his words.

“You can get there on your own, or I can tend it where you sit. You’re not dying on my watch.” Then he adds, “But it’ll be easier by the fire.”

I scowl at him because I know he’ll actually do what he says he’ll do. Him and his orders. In my exhaustion and pain, I want to lash out at him. The angry part of me thinks he only cares because he wants to be free of that cuff. But another, smaller, part of me brings up that near-kiss, and I wonder if maybe he’s been feeling some of the same things I have. Maybe even remembering that night in the cave. My cheeks heat, and I’m even more unwilling to go now.

He comes toward me with his long strides, and I carefully stand before he reaches me, breathing deep to keep my senses about me. Then he’s at my side, and with a gentle hand, he grips my good arm and helps me to my bedroll where I lay down and try not to show how much I needed the warmth of the fire.

He kneels beside me, his jaw set in that down-to-business way he gets, but I catch a hint of concern before he masks even that. He remains expressionless as he unties the blood-soaked bandage he tied earlier and removes it. I stifle a sound of pain from fully escaping when he pours heated water over it to loosen the torn fabric of my sleeve.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I ask through gritted teeth.

He stays focused, offering no response.

“You learn this skill from the mercenaries?” It’s low of me, but I want a response, and I know I’ll get one if I use the mercenary card.

“Told you I’m not a mercenary.” He smoothly threads a needle.

After that, the pain’s too much, so I keep my jaw clenched shut and turn my head to stare into the flames instead of his handsome face as he starts talking. I’m proud when, even as he begins to stitch it closed, I make no sound, only a couple of instinctive twitches of my arm give away any indication I feel it at all. I can’t take all the credit, though. I’ll never admit it aloud, but his ongoing one-sided conversation has been more comforting than I expected. He’s been talking the entire time in that deep, steady voice of his. Something about a shard beast battle that I missed most of after a particularly tender needle tug, another part about an archery contest when he was a kid, and an extra long bit about his hawk named Simon and his beast dog named Arrow. After he’s finished and his talking has stopped, and the only sound between us is the crackle and pop of the fire, I find I wish I’d been able to pay a little better attention.

I realize as he carefully wraps my arm and sets it lightly across my stomach, and my eyes open and shut tiredly, that he’s never shared anything like that before—the personal things that seem unimportant but make a person real. I want to know more. How could this man be a Tulip killer? A mercenary, even. It just doesn’t fit .

My eyes feel heavier than they’ve ever felt, burning and dry. Closing them has never felt so good. But as I enjoy the sweet relief of darkness and almost-sleep, my thoughts begin to free themselves from the confines of my mind and come out mumbled and nearly indecipherable through my lips.

“You don’t really seem like a mercenary… don’t think you kill Tulips.”

My sentence drifts off, and I open my eyes once more to drink in the sight of him before I sleep. I notice he appears to have frozen as he was inspecting one of his many knives, looking at me with an intensity that almost wakes me up. But nothing can wake me up now. My eyes close, and I reach sleep.