The cottage filled with the sound of petals tearing as Hunter assisted stripping the roses. Soft billowing rips, followed by a swish as they fell into the basket steadied in front of him. The pink ones were my favorite. The scent carrying a trace of pears and almonds. These were especially strong, as the buds were in full bloom, on the edge of decay. Most individuals preferred the red, as they held their color better when dried. They assumed the darker pigment translated into stronger scent. This wasn’t true, of course. At least, not for the roses that grew from this dirt. Hunter had tried his hand at nursing the stems from my native home, but the ground here didn’t embrace them.
The sunset splashing through the window offered its last bit of warmth to the baskets of flowers. Hunter’s motions and tension in his wrists made the aesthetic all the prettier as he worked. When his hands went still, I looked up to find his sky-blue eyes sparkling back at me.
“Are you going to leave all the work to me as you watch?” His voice held the same hint of laughter that his eyes couldn’t help but betray.
Clearing my throat, I shifted, focusing on my own basket. “I’m but ensuring a proper extraction. You can be a bit rough.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhmmm.” I smiled up at him as he sat the empty stems on the table and turned toward me, running his fingers down my cheek in a gentle caress. He smelled of roses and vanilla. It was shameful how lovely and edible he was.
He leaned down, brushing his lips across my temple, then in a whisper said, “Maybe I’m in need of some practice being gentler.”
The sound of a fist slamming against the door shook the walls. It brought a startled jump from me, and laughter at my expense from Hunter. Whomever had caused it was interrupting what could have been a delightful display of Hunter’s talents. Closing my eyes, I called to the intruder, “Enter at your will.”
A gasping Jonah rushed through the door, slamming it behind him as quickly as he had opened it.
Hunter made a quiet sound of frustration. So quiet, were his hand not still against my skin to feel the vibration, I’d have missed it. I gave him a gentle pat and pressed a soft kiss to his lips to calm him. His spirit swirled against the surface, soothed immediately at my touch. It was warm and familiar, and I struggled to not accept the invitation it offered. But we had company.
Jonah, still struggling to steady his breath, called, “Life or death, and you still insist on flaunting your affections before me.” He moved into the room, an awkward hesitance in his gait.
Laughing, I tore myself from Hunter’s overly willing soul. “Don’t be so dramatic, Jonah. Now what have you brought upon yourself this time?” I asked.
Jonah’s eyes darted between the two of us. Hunter turned, now leaned on his hip against the tabletop. I watched as he crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, awaiting his friend’s admission. No doubt Jonah had been caught meddling in someone’s affairs. His favorite activity involved supplanting family heirs. He didn’t care with whom. Just so that it disrupted the flow of things.
“I might have caught up with the Baron’s daughter.”
I sucked in a breath as I turned to him. “Jonah.”
“Don’t nag me, Senlis.”
“Well, and what good it would do if I tried. I warned you to let her be.”
“No. You warned she would be trouble.”
Scowling, I crossed my arms, my posture now imitating Hunter’s. “And what, pray tell, did you think I meant by that?”
The sweat on his brow had dried, and his chest finally finished heaving from his run. He now smirked at me, his gray-blue eyes twinkling with a mischievousness that said he knew exactly my words’ intent. “That she would present a challenge.”
“Fibber.” Grabbing a handful of stripped rose stems, I threw them at him.
He laughed as he lifted an elbow to block my weak attack of sticks and thorns.
“And what punishment are you running from?” Hunter asked, interrupting our banter. He ran a hand through his dark curls, frustrated already from anticipation of Jonah’s reply.
“Ah. That.” Jonah rubbed a hand behind his neck, wincing. “I took some whipping, but I rather think they intended more.” Without another word, he grabbed hold of the bottom of his tunic. He then yanked it over his head, baring his bloody back to us.
“Oh, Jonah.” I sighed, eyeing the ruin of his skin. No wonder his movements lacked his normal sauntering grace.
“Don’t show him mercy,” Hunter warned. “He did exactly what you forbade him. I wouldn’t put it past him to have been caught just so he could come to you for aid.”
I looked at Jonah, who only smiled and shrugged at me. Shaking my head, I walked to the basin to wet a rag. As I wrung the excess water, I heard rustling and scraping from Jonah dragging a stool to the fire to sit. That he didn’t just lift it was telling of the injury to his body. When I returned to him, he sat poised on the seat, facing the fire. I shook my head in amazement over how he ran all this way, losing as much blood as he had.
“You’re lucky they didn’t end your turn, Jonah,” I whispered. I didn’t waste words to warn him it would hurt. He knew. He went rigidly still under my hands as I wiped the bloody stains away. Running the tips of my fingers gently over each wound, I summoned my spirit. With cautious, delicate movements, I willed it over his skin and into the marred flesh. It flowed like a warm liquid, wielding to my motions. While comfortable for me, Jonah’s experience was not so kind. As the cuts and welts knitted and healed, he hissed.
Instructing through gritted teeth, Jonah said, “You could make it more pleasant.”
“I could. But that would make it the reward you seek. Let this be a lesson, friend.”
As the last of the wounds began to close, the small space once again echoed with the sound of the wooden door thrusting open and crashing against the brick. I looked up to discover three men halted in the doorway, mouths open as their eyes traveled down Jonah’s back. And landing on me, hovering over his shirtless form.
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