The Evolution of Fae and Gods (Chronicles of the Stone Veil #3) - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,2
he took her in. She was battered in a way that made him want to hunt that abomination of a Dark Fae down and kill her slowly with iron daggers.
“Where are you hurt?” Carrick asked, wanting an assessment of the injuries that weren’t obvious.
He could already see the glass had shredded her clothing, and she was bleeding from numerous cuts from top to bottom. He imagined he looked much the same, but worse. Finley had a large scrape across her cheekbone and a purple bruise starting under the eye on that side.
But he remembered her hobbling—he was afraid she had broken bones and maybe even internal injuries. He needed to know if it was prudent to take her to his condo for care or if he should bypass it for the hospital.
“My ankle,” she said, nodding wearily to her right side. “I don’t think it’s broken, though. Just sprained.”
“Where else?” Carrick pressed.
“How about every inch of my body?” she retorted with a wry smile, and Carrick took that as a good sign.
He needed a bit more, though, so he pushed. “Anything internal? Any pain in your stomach or chest?”
“Not the type that would mean a ruptured spleen,” she muttered. “I’m just really sore, but the ankle is the worst.”
He’d take her to the condo then, which was for the best. Going to a hospital was most likely going to cause quite a stir, including involvement by the police. As it stood, there was a good chance they’d be trying to locate Finley soon to let her know her shop was on fire.
Finley’s eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them back up, they were filled with misery. “One Bean is destroyed.”
“I know,” he murmured.
“I almost died,” she said.
“I know,” he replied softly.
“You saved me.” Her tone was filled with a bit of awe.
“I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you,” Carrick vowed.
He said it while looking her straight in the eye and with the purest of intent, for he cared about Finley more than she could ever imagine.
But he also knew he was most likely telling her a lie because he didn’t think he could protect her from the horror that was coming.
CHAPTER 2
Finley
You would think I’d be embarrassed to be stripped down to my underwear and bra while Carrick carefully attends to every single cut on my body. Several he had to pick out shards of glass with tweezers, and it was a painstaking process. A plate sits on my bedside table where he deposits the bloody pieces of glass, along with a bowl of warm water he uses to clean around the wounds.
But I’m not embarrassed at all because Carrick waved off Zaid’s offer to help and insisted on caring for me himself, despite the fact he is clearly seriously injured.
The first thing he did upon carrying me into the condo was take me right to my room and gently lay me on the bed. He then placed his palm on my forehead, murmured some words I didn’t understand, and immediately a sense of peace and well-being washed through me. While my injuries still hurt, the traumatization of what happened tonight feels blanketed right now.
I watch as Carrick bends over a cut on my left thigh. His focus on his work is intense as he examines the length and depth before dabbing liquid from a brown bottle without a label on it. It stings for a moment before numbing the wound quite nicely.
There’s a light knock on my bedroom door, and Zaid peeks his head in. Strangely, I’m not embarrassed to be in my underwear in front of him either, and now I’m wondering if that’s because of whatever mojo Carrick put on me with his hand to my head.
“There’s a healer on the way,” Zaid announces.
Carrick doesn’t take his attention off his work. “Good. Because some of these cuts need stitches, and I’d rather not put her through that. Plus, I want the ankle fixed ASAP. She doesn’t have time to let it heal naturally.”
Zaid nods and disappears, the door shutting quietly.
“What about you?” I ask, resisting the urge to reach out and brush away a lock of hair that’s fallen over his forehead. Normally, his hair is always perfectly swept back in gentle waves from his face, but I have to say he looks incredibly roguish with it messed up a bit.
“What about me what?” Carrick asks vaguely, more focused on my injuries than on my words.