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I met his eyes. Up close, the twilight color seemed to deepen, with only the barest shade of blue playing at the edge of his irises. There was an agelessness to his features so that I could not quite determine his age, but the intelligence in him was evident. He seemed to be surveying me, a curious pinching at his brow, as though I were a puzzle he was trying to solve. His beard was short, just enough to cover his jaw and mouth, and I could see faint tints of red mixed with mahogany brown.
He must have sidhe in his bloodline to be so nobly handsome, curse him.
And then, because it felt unseemly to be thinking another man handsome after having kissed Derrick, I cleared my throat and focused on his statement. “Yes,” I said at last.
He grunted and snipped off the thread. “How far did you get?”
He began prepping the hooked needle once more and I tried to ignore the wicked, curved point at its end, but its presence was a tingle over my skin. With a shudder, I focused on his question. “I managed to cast one rune before the stone threw me out of the aether again.”
“And it was successful?” Cade asked.
There was something in his eyes that made my stomach flutter, but Mark’s high-pitched yip of pain resounded through my memory. In the confusion of the moment, I thought it could have been Levi’s work that put the wolf down, but no. I had seen the rune and knew it hit Mark. “It seemed to be. He stopped attacking Derrick long enough for us to get away.”
Cade presented me with the needle and thread, his expression grim. “Then I thank you. Derrick tends to keep at a fight long after he’s lost. It could have been a good deal worse than it was.”
Because I hadn’t imagined Cade would ever be grateful to me, I stared at him. It seemed my initial impressions of the man might have been off, and likely his of me. Considering how much I didn’t know about Fairy, I could somewhat understand. In his line of work, many people lied, and he no doubt suspected as much from me. I wondered what had changed and took the needle. Cade turned with a grunt, angling his body so that I could see the full extent of the last bloody gash.
“Pretend it is the hem of your skirt,” he said. “Same basic principle. It doesn’t need to be pretty; it just needs to be closed.”
“Same basic principle,” I murmured, and took another breath. “Except I am right-handed and trying to do this with my left. And my hem certainly doesn’t bleed on me as I mend it.”
He breathed a soft laugh. “The sooner you’re done, the sooner I can take a look at your hand.”
I glared at his shoulder. “You will not be looking at my hand until you’ve had some rest.”
To my surprise, the needle passed through his skin without much effort. The thread slid into place, carefully tugging his wound closed, and I made my next stitch before he replied.
“Derrick said you could be remarkably assertive when you wanted to be.”
“And by assertive, I assume you mean bossy.”
He craned his neck to smirk at me. “I rarely say what I don’t mean, Miss Grayson. Though it is telling that you would assume so. Have many men in your life called you bossy?”
For a startled moment I stared at him. “Well, yes and no. In school, yes. Sometimes. And one or two in recent years, but they’re gone.” I went back to the last stitch.
“Then you merely assume I am the sort of man who would translate a woman’s assertiveness as bossiness?”
“No, of course not, I just…”
Cade’s hand covered mine, gently plucking the needle from my hand. I hadn’t even realized I was done. Somehow I’d stitched the angry, red skin closed, leaving a wicked looking black furrow in his back. It was straight enough, and I breathed in relief.
He nodded with his chin to the scissors. “Snip the thread, please, Miss Grayson.”
I lifted the scissors and cut through the thread. His smirk was gone, replaced by a frowning, thoughtful expression as he struggled into a seated position.
“I apologize, Constable. I did not mean to insult you.”
He lifted a roll of gauze from the kit and flashed a genuine smile at me. “Forgiven. Now, could you help me wrap it?”
“Yes, please get him covered,” said a voice at the portal.
Cade went still, his gaze flicking over my shoulder. I turned to find the dracken standing beside the portal. She was far more striking in person than she had been in the mirror: bronze skin glittering as though magic were woven into her, with dramatic cheekbones lifted in an echo of the peaked ears flaring on either side of her head. I could see now that her three-pointed ears followed the shape of her skull, laying flat against hair the shade of bonfire – deeply red in places, pale blonde in others. Each point of her ears boasted emerald piercings linked by delicate silver chains that swung as she strode to the table.
She wore a fine cape of dove grey, and underneath were high-waisted trousers with silver buttons and a billowy ivory blouse cinched down by a ribbed corset. The ensemble was impressive and utilitarian all at once. Low at her hip was a scabbard sheathing a thin, long sword that might have been a rapier. The hilt certainly looked like a rapier. Without preamble she began reviewing the papers on the table, one slender finger pushing the top pages from view as she skimmed through the information.
Cade handed me the roll of gauze, dragging my attention away from the woman. With a flush, I nodded and got to work, carefully wrapping the gauze around his waist.
“Where is Constable King?” the dracken asked.
