Above me came the soft rustle of something moving through the trees. The moonlight illuminated a familiar form racing toward me. Wicked was still only half dressed as he bounded down the hillside, his expression so wild with anger it seemed to gather speed and roll over the ground to where it found me at rock bottom.

I tumbled over and pushed myself up, my body protesting and blood gushing where my shoulder ached, its warmth dripping down my arm and side. I must have hit something on my way down. With a heave, I stood up and limped along the floor of the ravine. There was no way I could outrun him, especially not like this, but I couldn’t just lie there and wait.

It took less than a handful of seconds before I heard a grunt and felt his arms wrap around my thighs before he hauled me up over his shoulder. I cried out in protest as my arm throbbed painfully. Wicked paid me no mind as he spun and began making his rapid way back up the side of the mountain. It was then I realized how much he’d held himself back earlier as he ran so fast I felt the resistance of the wind on the backs of my legs.

Hanging off his shoulder, the world spun in my vision, and I gripped the waist of his pants to anchor myself, worried he’d drop me. Before I knew it, I recognized the switchback that led to his castle and then the grounds of the courtyard. I heard the door slam open and then close before he dropped me onto the bed in an unceremonious heap.

I moaned in pain, blood gushing from my wound. Wicked was tugging at my cloak, his skin reflecting a sheen of sweat and his pallid face a mask of fury. “You foolish, foolish princess,” he growled. “I told you that you wouldn’t get away.”

“Fuck you,” I managed weakly while he pulled off my cloak. Blood covered the entire side of my tunic.

“What did you do?” he hissed before he rose and moved from the bed. I heard him shuffling around in the kitchen before he returned a moment later. “I’m going to roll you over.”

His hands were more gentle than I would have expected, but the movement sent a sharp pain through my back that caused me to gasp. “Sorry,” he said softly. I heard the rip of fabric when he tore away my blood-soaked tunic and then the gentle touch of a warm wet cloth as he cleaned the wound. While he tended to my injury with soft touches and the occasional grunt of irritation, I lay there, not moving. I sensed he wanted to launch into a lecture about my recklessness, but was saving it for later. Something to look forward to, then.

He pulled out a white roll of bandage and placed it across my shoulder, his hands sliding under my arm as he wrapped it around me securely. I tried not to think about how close his fingers were to my naked breast and how nice they felt on my skin. When he was done, he placed a soft hand on the center of my back and leaned forward to examine his work. A ripple traveled over my skin as his thumb swept back and forth in a soft caress. “I think it’ll be okay,” he said. “It was a clean cut, even if it was deep. It’ll take a little while to heal. I’ll see if I can get some stronger ointment from the village tomorrow.”

His gaze met mine, firelight reflecting off his dark eyes. I wouldn’t apologize for trying to escape, but there was something so tortured in his expression, a small part of me almost felt guilty for running.

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. He could have left me lying at the bottom of the ravine as a sacrifice for the ogre. A part of me wondered why he hadn’t.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his tone gruff as he stood up and went back to the kitchen. My eyes drifted shut as I gritted my teeth against the sharp pain lancing through my back. A few moments later, he returned with a steaming mug. His hand resting on the small of my back again, he held it to my mouth. “Drink some of this. It’ll dampen the pain and help you sleep.”

I lifted my head, and he gently tipped the mug. The liquid was warm and soothed my throat, tasting of honey, lemon and lavender. I moaned in appreciation as the effects kicked in almost immediately. He made me drink some more, and the pain slowly ebbed, my eyelids growing heavier.

Just before I fell asleep, I felt the brush of his fingers sweeping up my spine and then against my forehead before he tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

“What are you doing to me, Rowan?” he asked softly before I drifted into sleep.

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Chapter Ten

I awoke to the soft sounds of Wicked’s breathing, his face just inches from mine. He lay on the bed, his top half still bared and his hands folded over his stomach. I didn’t move a muscle, only scanning him while I studied the strange tattoos that ran down the side of his face and torso, wondering what they meant.

A moment later, the back of my neck prickled. I looked up to find him watching me, his gaze thoughtful and brimming with concern. I became immediately aware we were both half naked, though I was on my stomach. It occurred to me he must have seen my bared chest while he was tending to me, and I frowned. But his touches had only been tender and caring last night.

He’d said he wasn’t that kind of monster, and I was inclined to believe him on that, at least.

“I hope it’s okay. I wanted to keep an eye on you, and I guess I dozed off before I could move to the sofa,” he said. It took me a moment to realize he was apologizing for falling asleep in the bed. I moved my head, my hair rustling against the mattress.

“It’s fine.”

He relaxed visibly at that. Neither of us moved while we lay there in silence, our gazes meeting and then pulling away as though neither of us could quite figure out what to do with ourselves. Finally, he sat up, and I did my best not to notice the flex and pull of the muscles in his back and his arms while he leaned over to stretch and then rubbed his hands down his face.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked. I shifted, testing my shoulder, and winced at the stab of pain.

“Okay. A little sore.”

“Hungry?” he asked, looking over at me, and I quickly averted my gaze lest he catch me staring. “I’ll make you some more tonic for the pain, too.”

“Sure, thank you,” I replied before he scooted off the end of the bed and padded over to the kitchen. He got to work as I closed my eyes, curiously soothed by the now familiar sounds of him cooking.

For the next few days, Wicked tended to me, changing my bandages regularly and bringing me food and water and more pain tonic. While I healed, I drifted in and out of sleep until I could finally sit up and move my arm again. The wound was still healing, but I’d improved considerably.

Wicked didn’t leave the entire time, save once, to pick up the healing ointment he’d promised, tending to me with all the attention of a doting nurse. Why was he bothering? Did he need his sacrificial lamb in tiptop shape the next time he abandoned me in the forest?

Still, I couldn’t fault him for the careful way he tended to me, even if it was technically his fault I’d been hurt in the first place.

It was about a week later before I could move around and take care of myself again. I’d been sleeping in his bed every night, but now that I was feeling better, the question hung between us.

“We can keep sharing the bed,” he said, not meeting my eye as he cleaned up the dishes after supper. “If you want.”

The discomfort of sleeping in my cell overriding any of my reservations, I nodded. Wicked had been the perfect gentleman already, clearly going out of his way to stay on his side of the bed. If he’d wanted to try something, he’d already had ample opportunities.

“I’ll have to chain you to it, though. I can’t have you running off again.”

I folded my arms. “Absolutely not.”