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“Usually nothing.”
I gaped at him.
“So, what, you just bleed all over the place and don’t even bother covering the wound?”
He did that tail-shrug thing again.
“Blood clots quickly enough. If it’s really deep I just wrap it in a shirt.”
Is this why he doesn’t wear a shirt? I thought rather grimly to myself. They’re all ruined with old blood stains because the man doesn’t have a single fucking bandage in his entire fucking house?
“Well, we’ll just have to make do,” I said with forced cheer. I went back to my bag in the kitchen, tossed the tube in, then fetched out my red scarf. I returned with it to the bedroom, fingering the soft material as I went. “Cherry red!” I said, smiling and shaking it at him.
“What’s that?” he asked from his seated position. Now that I was done rubbing cream on his ears, he seemed a little more relaxed. His fists had uncurled, and he leaned his large torso back against the chair, watching me as I approached.
“It’s for your ears.”
His gaze narrowed.
“Don’t use that.”
“It’s clean and it will protect-”
“Don’t.”
I sighed in exasperation.
“Are you going to put your hat back on and go back to work out there?”
“Yes.”
“Then you need something to cover your ears! Your hat’s got all kinds of dust and bacteria and lovely human sweat in it now, thanks to me. And I’m pretty sure wrapping a whole shirt around your heat is not going to be ideal.”
“Don’t use that.”
How many times was he going to repeat some variation of that same command?
“Is there a specific reason why you don’t want me to use it?” I asked, fighting to keep the irritation out of my voice. I was the idiot who’d taken his hat and caused him to get burned in the first place. Couldn’t he just accept this little bit of kindness from me, from his wife? Why couldn’t he-
“It’s too nice.”
My nagging thoughts dispersed instantly. I stared at Silar, suddenly overwhelmed with something that felt a whole lot like tenderness. He didn’t want me to, what, get it dirty? He’d rather let an injury get infected than sully something of mine?
I swallowed a hot lump in my throat.
Silar took care of his property. Of his house. Of his animals.
But who took care of him?
Who took care of the man who didn’t have a table to eat at or a person to eat with?
The man who didn’t even bother to bandage himself when he bled?
I will.
I would do it. I was his wife now and wives were supposed to poke and prod, help and heal, and if Silar didn’t like it then too fucking bad because he’d married a human woman and we were one hell of a stubborn breed.
And if he decided to send me back after thirty days as a result…
