Griffin’s hoarse groan intensifies the ache inside me. I shift restlessly against his hand, unconsciously lifting my hips.
His whole body tenses. “That’s not helping,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to my shoulder.
“Sorry,” I mutter back, breathless.
It takes a long time for his breathing to settle. He stretches out on his side, absently smoothing his hand over my hip, the warm weight of it making me aware of how slight I am. Not just slight. Concave.
I glance down. I’m used to a certain amount of roundness, and the sight of tight skin over bones reminds me of things best left in the past.
Griffin eases onto his back, lacing our fingers again even though we’ve stopped bleeding. I turn into him without thinking.
“Should I reopen the cuts?” he asks. His free arm comes around me.
I touch the hard ridges of his abdomen, warm skin over steel. “We should go.”
“Can you walk?”
I take a deep breath, not wanting to move. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Griffin scrubs his hand down his face and then rises, reaching out to help me up. I stay upright but feel like a ripple on water—ready to collapse. I groan, which seems to worry him. Then my stomach growls, and his eyes brighten.
“Food. Then we leave.”
I shake my head, gripping the bedpost for balance. “No time.”
His gray eyes turn flinty. “You need to eat.”
“I’ll eat while we ride. Andromeda could have spies anywhere. She might already know I’m here.”
The muscles in his jaw flex, but he nods, turning from me to find a washbasin and sponge. He wipes the dried blood off us both. My immediate protest fades with his unwavering stare and gruff insistence on taking care of me. I bite my tongue and stand still for him because I understand his need. He watched me dying for days. I watched him dying for minutes, and it was beyond awful.
Heated shivers follow the path of the cool sponge and Griffin’s smoldering gaze. Goose bumps sweep my body, and my nipples tighten again, causing his eyes to snag on my breasts and turn heavy-lidded. Unfulfilled desire molds his striking features into stark, hard lines as he washes me with a focus that makes my pulse pound and my knees weak. Warmth gathers between my legs again. My limbs feel languid. I can’t catch my breath.
Griffin drops a lingering kiss on my bare shoulder before tugging a clean, white tunic over my head. He drags another one over his own head before throwing open the door and bellowing for the others.
Kato and Flynn rush out of the room next door. They see me, and their faces split into wide grins. We almost hug but hold back because Griffin is hovering like an overprotective Centaur. That, and I’m not wearing any pants.
Griffin hands Kato the basin of bloody water. “Dilute this.” To Flynn he says, “Burn the tunic and the bedding. Make sure there isn’t a drop of blood anywhere.”
I turn to him, wide-eyed, and Griffin spreads his hands. “You think I’m not learning?”
I smile. No comment.
Egeria arrives next. She gets teary and launches herself at me, nearly bowling me over and squeezing me so hard I start to reevaluate her buttercup status. She’s strong. Or maybe I’m just really weak. I awkwardly pat her back until she lets go.
“We need food for the road,” Griffin tells her. “Fruit. Bread. And cheese.”
I open my mouth, but he beats me to it. “Not goat cheese.”
I grin. How did I ever not like him?
Carver pounds up the stairs, breathing hard. “Cat!” He picks me up and twirls me around. When he sets me down, I lose my balance, and Griffin has to catch me before I fall. He circles an arm around my waist and hauls me against his side, planting a kiss on the top of my head. His possessive display of affection has me blushing kalaberry red.
“Help Flynn with the bedding,” he grumbles. “Get the horses ready, and tell Piers we’re moving out.”
Carver glances at me with concern, ignoring his brother’s surly tone. “The sun’s still high.”
Griffin looks out the window, frowning. “We can’t wait.”
I clear my throat. “Can I please have some pants?”
Everyone’s eyes drop to my legs, and Griffin pushes me behind him as if no one’s seen knees before. Egeria hurries from the room, returning with a pale-yellow tunic and a pair of dark-brown pants.
“What happened to my clothes?” I see only my boots, tucked neatly under the bed.
“Ruined,” she answers. “We burned them along with Griffin’s.”