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He studied all of it and I wanted to ask him if it looked different on the other side of the veil, more muted, less colorful. Wolfe kicked open the bathroom door, frowning at the set up, and pointed to the closed toilet.

“Sit.”

“You’re bossy,” I grumbled.

“I’m a lord,” he reminded me tersely. “Now sit.”

I did, knees almost giving out. My blood ran hot beneath my skin, but I was still shivering against the cold porcelain. When he reached for me this time, there was nothing hesitant about it. He worked my damp jacket from my shoulders and I watched him carefully, breaths shallow.

He dropped the wet material on the floor.

“In the drawer there’s a first aid kit.”

He nodded, yanking at the small knob. He opened the kit, studied the contents inside, and set to work.

Wolfe knelt by my feet again, gently brushing the debris away from my cut.

“I don’t think it’ll need sutures,” he said to himself. He moved long enough to dampen a washcloth and run it around my cut. I hissed, yanking my hand away. He tsked. “Stay still, Avery.”

“It stings,” I said petulantly.

“I’ve seen little ones with more fortitude.”

I gasped. “How dare you?”

He kept his head bent low, but I caught a bare glimpse of his smile.

“You’re a terrible patient.”

“Maybe you’re a terrible doctor.”

He studied the alcohol pad for a long moment before tearing it open. I nearly jumped out of my skin as he cleaned my cut. He made sure every inch of it was disinfected. Once the dried blood was wiped away, I studied my raw palm. It wasn’t a bad cut, but it stung.

“I’ve heard nothing but good things about my bedside manner,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, well, they lied,” I muttered.

His laugh kissed my skin as he bandaged me up. He was gentle. Careful. He taped the bandage down and gave me a pat.

“Doubtful,” he pushed back. He settled back on his haunches. The bathroom was small, cramped. I could smell him. Clove, honey, whiskey. It clung to every inch of him. He was warm, too. It radiated off him in waves. It made me drowsy, sleepy. “Are you well?”

I stared at him. “Am I—am I okay?” I repeated. He nodded, expression guarded. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“Aye,” he answered quietly. He pressed his hand to his chest. “There is no beating, but I feel…” He trailed off. Shook his head. He touched my unbandaged hand. “I feel you.”

My breath caught, lodging in my throat. “I can feel you too.”

“Strange,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I hadn’t imagined…”

“Did I do it wrong?” I asked, terrified of the answer.

“Christ, no,” he said quickly. “You were perfect, Avery. I hadn’t expected to…to be able to do this.”

God, he was close to me. I could count every freckle, see every thin scar he bore on his knuckles. His lashes were long, sweeping against his cheek with every blink.

“Why do you think that is?” I asked cautiously.

Truthfully, I was almost afraid of the answer. Had I taken more than I should have? Opened myself up to something that should have stayed closed?