Chapter 73: The Bear Did Not Know Where to Look

Edrik looked at his bleeding sleeve, then at Dove, as though she had interrupted something much less important than she thought. "It’s shallow. We should move before anyone else comes along."

"Then we can move after you stop leaking on the pavement. Sit down before I make Thorne sit on you."

Her mate took the bent steel shield and checked the empty garden center behind them. Its loading porch had a concrete step, a roof, and one door he could keep watched. It put the cart and the bodies out of Dove’s direct view without pretending they had vanished.

She followed Edrik under the porch roof. He sat with his good hand resting on his knee, looking toward the road until she stepped in front of him and asked him to take the coat off.

The cut crossed the outside of his upper arm. It wasn’t deep enough to show anything she couldn’t handle, but it was longer than his casual voice had suggested. Blood had soaked the shirt beneath it.

"You and I apparently have different opinions about a scratch," she said, trying to ease the torn fabric away without pulling at the wound.

"I’ve had worse," he said, holding the torn sleeve clear for her as though that ought to settle the discussion.

"Congratulations. I still don’t want this one dripping through dinner."

He looked at her then. Properly, without checking the road over her head. Dove put a folded clean cloth against the cut and told him to hold pressure while she washed her hands with ordinary water from their bottle.

Thorne stood at the porch opening. He passed her the bandages when she reached for them, but he didn’t take the task away because her fingers shook. She liked him so much for that she had to swallow before asking him for one more thing.

He understood when she touched the small bottle in her pocket. She sat against the wall with his knee beside her shoulder, leaving her body safely under the roof while her mind entered the space.

The pond waited, clear and quiet, with absolutely no interest in how terrible her morning had been. She filled the bottle and ignored Sprout until it stopped offering advice about quantities.

"A little first," she told it. "I remember. You don’t need to narrate me being scared."

She returned to herself with Thorne’s hand on her shoulder. Edrik had stayed seated, watching her brief stillness without trying to touch her or demand an explanation. That made the next part easier.

Dove cleaned around the wound with ordinary water, then lifted the cloth and let a little pond water run across the cut. Edrik drew in a breath. Fresh bleeding slowed, and the torn edges eased closer together beneath her eyes.

It wasn’t perfect skin. She still needed the dressing, and his arm still needed rest, but it was enough to make him look from the wound to her bottle.

"Dove, what is that?" His voice changed as he looked from the bottle to skin that had been bleeding moments earlier.

"Shut up. Don’t ask." She pressed her lips together when the last words shook. "Just let me do something useful for you."

He closed his mouth, but his gaze stayed on her. "Keep your secret," he said. "You came back for me. I noticed that part." Sprout credited two Favor for his surprise and relief, bringing her to nine hundred three. Dove dismissed its notice before it could suggest doing anything else to a bleeding man.

A tear slid down her cheek while she checked the cut. She wiped it on her shoulder and kept working. More sat hot behind her eyes, but they could wait until his blood was where it belonged.

"Those men weren’t getting you," Edrik said, watching her face. "Even if I’d had to leave the cart burning in the road."

"You did get me out." She wrapped the dressing carefully. "I’d just prefer you did it with all your blood next time. I’m fussy like that."

His good hand closed over the edge of the step. For a moment, she thought the pain had worsened. Then he looked down at her again with an expression she couldn’t quite name, as though being worried about had unsettled him more than the knife.

Thorne found the fastening strip among the bandages. "She means it. Arguing won’t make her less stubborn."

"Both of you can complain after I finish," Dove said, holding out her hand for the fastening strip. Thorne placed it in her palm, and his quiet trust helped more than another promise that everything was fine.

When she helped Edrik pull the damaged shirt clear of the dressing, a dark curve appeared over the back of his shoulder. It wasn’t a bruise. Black waves and the edge of a red flower disappeared beneath the rest of his clothes.

She paused, fingers against the fabric. There was more ink under there, far more than the little piece she could see. Edrik noticed her looking and lifted his gaze to hers without offering a story.

"You’ve been hiding interesting things," she said before she could stop herself.

Thorne glanced at the tattoo, then at Edrik. Something passed between them that Dove didn’t understand. Her mate went back to watching the road, but his silence felt deliberate now.

Edrik’s mouth curved slightly. "You didn’t ask me to undress before."

"I asked because you were bleeding. Don’t make me regret being helpful."

The smile stayed. It changed his whole face, making the quiet man she’d been traveling beside look suddenly more dangerous and more attractive, which was a deeply inconvenient combination.

She finished the bandage and pushed his pale hair out of his eyes with clean fingers. He went still under that small touch. There was nothing shy about the way he looked at her afterward, though his thank-you came softly.

Dove sat back and asked Thorne for food. He unwrapped the chicken sandwiches he had packed before they left, passing her the fattest one without asking. She handed Edrik his and waited until he took a proper bite before attacking her own. Nobody was discussing another mile until she finished lunch.

His attention followed her as she put the water away. She could feel it even with her back turned. When she glanced around, he didn’t pretend to have been admiring the wall.

She let him look while she packed, then pointed at his sandwich when he forgot about it. Being handsome did not get him out of finishing lunch.

Then he reached for his coat, and his injured arm shook beneath the dressing. Dove caught the slipping buckle and looked down the road. The bleeding had stopped, but the man who could carry her through anything wasn’t ready to carry anything yet.