Page 24 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“Easy,” he murmurs, helping me to a chair. “Let the blood flow back.”

My arms are numb. Pain floods back in waves as circulation returns. I flex my fingers, trying to speed the process. Pins and needles shoot down to my fingertips.

I shove at his chest and push myself out of his grip.

He watches me struggle for a moment. Then he crosses to a cabinet, retrieves a bottle and two glasses and pours amber liquid into both.

“Here.” He presses a glass into my shaking hand. “Drink. It’ll help.”

“What is it?”

“Fae wine.” He raises his own glass. “To unexpected houseguests.”

I take in the room while he drinks. Dark wood shelves line the walls, crowded with books and maps. We’re in his private chambers inside Elvarstyne Keep.

I drink slowly. The ale burns going down, but he’s right. It helps. The warmth spreads through my chest, easing some of the tension.

“The chains were necessary,” he says after a moment. “But I am sorry about that.”

I drag my thumb over one wrist then the other. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure you have.” His eyes track over me, assessing. The iron has cut into my skin, leaving raw rings around both wrists. A crease forms between his brows as he looks at the damage.

Gods, I hate that look.

I see pity in his eyes and it makes me want to snarl.

Garrett sets his glass down and moves to another cabinet. He returns with bandages and a jar of something that smells faintly of spearmint. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine.”

“Wolf.” He kneels in front of my chair. “Let me see.”

Something twists low in my stomach at the sight of him kneeling there. The position puts him too close. I immediately want distance.

“Give me your hand,” he requests.

The thought of him touching me again makes my pulse jump. My wrists stay tucked close to my stomach.

Garrett waits a beat. “I won’t hurt you.”

For a second I consider refusing outright. But medications are expensive and hard to come by. Slowly, I extend my hands, hating how they still tremble.

He takes my right wrist gently, examining the damage. The sharp scent of healing salve fills the air as he opens the jar. His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist.

“This will sting,” he warns.

It does. I don’t flinch.

He works in silence, applying the salve to my wrists before wrapping them. I track every movement warily and study the top of his bent head while he works. The whole thing feels like a trick.

“There.” Garrett smooths the final layer of bandage into place. “Does that feel better?”

Is he fucking with me?

This bastard had me in chains an hour ago and wrapped his hand around my cock. Now he’s playing nursemaid. The sudden shift gives me whiplash.

I nod to his question and flex my fingers again, noting where my weapons should be. He notices.