3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Do not let the fairness of face trick you into believing it equates to the fairness of heart." – Lord Ian, Sixth Lord of Sídhetír.

I stood, locked in place. What the hell was I supposed to do? Fae were unpredictable, especially when injured. If I tried to help him, he could attack me, not understanding. Or perhaps this was a trick. Some fae enjoyed tricking humans for whatever reason. But could I leave him behind? Bleeding?

"Fucking hell." I grabbed his arms and pulled.

He barely moved. The dark fae was tall, taller than me, which was a feat because I was taller than most. While lean, he was dense with muscles that his black shirt and tight trousers didn't hide.

"Well, shit." I placed a hand on my chin and stared at him. How was I supposed to get him all the way to Byrne Manor when I struggled to shift him? The answer was—I couldn't. Maybe I could haul him to Iris's cottage. She had wanted to meet a fae. It seemed God had heard her bloody wish.

Peeling my gloves off, I hooked my elbows under his armpits and dragged him backward. My arms and back immediately protested, screaming from the strain. This was going to be a long walk.

Step after step, I yanked the unconscious fae through the forest. The heels of his boots left ruts in the dirt, and blood continued to leak from the wound. I hoped I didn't run into whoever had attacked this fae. If they'd injured a noble fae, they would have no trouble dispatching me.

When the cottage appeared among the trees, I almost dropped the unconscious fae in relief. My back throbbed and sweat drenched my shirtsleeves. With loud grunts mixed with swears, I yanked him toward the door. My arms were burning and my legs had turned into jelly. I looked over my shoulder at the short distance separating me from the door, and I truly wondered if I could make it.

I had to.

Exhausted, I knocked on Iris's door, sagging against the cool stone of her home. Sweat dripped down my temple, and I wiped it off as I waited for her to appear. After a moment, I rapped on the door again.

It opened, and Iris stared at me with a creased brow. "Aidan, it's yourself. I didn't think I'd see you today." She paused, taking in my disheveled appearance. "What's wrong?"

"I found him." I gestured to the dark fae in a heap on the ground behind me.

She blanched, backing away. "Why is he here? Why did you bring him?"

"I found him injured." I grabbed the fae again and began to lug him into the house, but Iris blocked the entry. "Are you going to let me in?"

Slowly, she moved out of the way. As I dragged the fae inside, Iris didn't move to assist me. Blood continued to leak out of his wound, and he was barely breathing. I gently lowered him to the floor, then glanced over my shoulder at Iris, who hovered near the open door.

"Are you going to help me?"

"No," she said, clutching her elbows. "You should've left him where you found him."

"Iris, he's dying."

"So?"

"You're the one who wanted to dance with a fae. Well, help me save him and you'll have a chance," I said as I pressed my hands to the wound to stem the flow of blood. Dragging him across the forest hadn't been good for the injury, and I hadn't thought about binding it beforehand. Caring for injured people wasn't something I had experience with.

"I wanted to dance with a common fae. Not a noble one. I say we let him die, and I'll bury him under my roses. He'll feed them, and we'll never talk about this."

My mouth fell open as I peered back at her. "Are you serious?"

"I don't want to be a part of whatever this is," Iris said, waving a hand. "Why do you think I avoid people at all costs? Why do you think I stay in the forest? People will turn your life upside down and dance on the ruins. He has trouble written all over his pretty face. I don't need or want the drama. If he dies, so will the problem."

I eyed the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the strength of his jaw. He was beautiful. All fae were. But it was more than that. He was alive—a living, breathing person who needed help.

"I have to help him."

"He might deserve it," she said.

I didn't believe that. "Help me."

"I'm not touching him. I don't want any part of the hell he will rain down on us," Iris said, which made me glare at her, but she continued. "I will tell you what to do, though, you good-hearted moron."

At her direction, I removed his shirt to inspect the injury. The jagged puncture sat deep in his stomach. Blood oozed from the opening. I swallowed my rising bile as ringing started in my ears. Blood wasn't something I was good with.

"Do you think the knife perforated his bowels?" I asked.

Iris stared at him over my shoulder. "I don't know. I'm not a physician. If you wanted one of those, you should've dragged him to Byrne Manor."

"We wouldn't have made it."

"All you can do is stitch the wound and bind it. If the knife nicked something, he's a dead man."

She brought me a needle and thread. I cleaned the wound with some of the potent whiskey before gulping a couple mouthfuls to steady my trembling hands. As carefully as possible, I stitched the ripped flesh together. With each stitch, I thanked my mother for teaching me basic sewing skills, though flesh was a far cry from cloth.

Once the wound was closed, Iris handed me a tin of foul-smelling paste, which I spread over the injury. Finally, I wrapped his waist in clean bandages.

The dark fae still breathed, but I had no idea if he would survive. Fae generally possessed better healing abilities than humans, but I couldn't say if those would repair this damage.

I rested a bloodied hand on his sternum, feeling the even thump of his heart beneath my palm. Hope remained.

My gaze moved to his face, and I jolted. Black eyes met mine. They were as dark as pitch, with no difference between his iris and pupils. All I saw was a pool of black in the white ocean of sclera.

His long fingers curled around my wrist, holding me tight. A scuttling sound came from behind me moments before the door opened and slammed closed. Iris must have fled, and I didn't blame her.

Fear coiled in my stomach as I stared at him. This fae, even injured, could kill me, but he didn't move. His long fingers remained firmly around my wrist, and his eyes flicked over my face.

With my heart in my throat, I laid my hand on his jaw. "You're hurt, and I'm trying to help you."

The fae didn't react, nor did his inscrutable expression change. He continued to watch me with his fathomless eyes. Eventually, they slid closed again and his grip loosened on my wrist, freeing me.

I sagged back, ass hitting the stone floor. Sweet Lord, he had an intense look, but he hadn't attacked me. Maybe he'd understood what I said. I honestly didn't know if he spoke the common tongue. It was possible my words meant nothing to him.

I tucked a pillow under his head and draped a blanket over him, trying to make the fae as comfortable as possible. I sat cross-legged, facing him, and tracked every twitch. I worried for some odd reason that if I glanced away, for even a moment, he would die, which was ludicrous. My will alone couldn't keep him here.

Several minutes passed before the door creaked. "Is he alive?"

"Yes."

"Damnit," Iris said with such feeling that I chuckled. "Is he awake?"

"No."

She came inside the rest of the way and crouched beside me. "I can make some potions to help with blood loss and promote healing as well as an antidote for poison, but I will not promise they'll actually work. They're made for humans, and dark fae are out of my realm of experience."

"Poison?"

Shrugging, she said, "He's acting fairly hurt for a single stab wound."

Maybe poison was the reason he hadn't healed? I didn't know enough of fae to say for certain. "Thank you."

Iris grunted and moved to the fireplace, starting the fire. The cottage was already warm, but after a few minutes, sweat dripped down my back. She flitted around and pulled down jars full of dried herbs, powder, and bits and bobs. With a groan, she put a pewter pot onto the pot crane and swung the concoction over the flames. She mixed the liquid with a wooden spoon, muttering under her breath while casting scathing looks at me and the dark fae.

"Idiot," she snapped at me.

I turned away from watching Iris make the potion, something I'd witnessed several times, and looked down at the fae. His eyes were open again, staring at me. The breath left my lungs. I bent closer, hovering over him, and rested my hand against his cheek. He did not fight against my hold or shift aside.

"Hello," I said, unable to think of anything else.

He blinked at me.

"Can you understand me?"

The fae lifted one of his hands, curling his fingers around my wrist. His skin was cool against mine. His fingertips rested right on my pulse point, so I knew he felt the racing of my heart.

Iris scooted closer to me, holding out the concoction as far as possible. I frowned at her antics. The fae hadn't done anything to warrant her obvious terror.

"Can you drink this?" I asked.

Once again, he said nothing.

I wiggled my hand from his grasp, and he frowned, tightening his grasp, though, after a moment, he let me go. I slipped a hand under his neck to lift him and pressed the cup to his lips.

As he swallowed the liquid, his eyes remained on mine. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I couldn't say why. I set the cup down and helped settle him back.

"I'm going to check your wound," I whispered, pulling the blanket down. No blood dotted the bandage. I looked over my shoulder to ask Iris if I should take off the wrapping to examine the actual injury, but she'd disappeared. She really didn't want to interact with this dark fae.

Now that I wasn't worried about him bleeding to death, I couldn't help but take in the sight of his bare chest. He was hairless and had well-defined muscles, but what caught my attention was the tattoos. Black vines swirled over his chest and arms, appearing so real I wanted to touch them. Blue flowers with long yellow stamen grew on the thorny vines. On the center of his chest was a crescent moon as real as the one that hung in the sky with a single, seven-pointed star that glowed deep red right next to it.

The tattoos hadn't been there earlier; I was sure of it. I'd heard stories about fae changing their appearance to suit humans. Were the tattoos actually there or had he conjured them for me? Was he no longer able to hide his true appearance? Or had I missed the marks in my panic earlier? I lifted my gaze back to his face, and he silently stared at me.

I didn't bother to speak. Instead, I grabbed his hand to offer silent comfort. He slid his fingers between mine.

Eventually, his eyes drifted closed and his hand turned slack within my grasp.

"Is he awake?" Iris asked in a loud whisper.

I peeked over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of her on the staircase leading to the loft. "He's asleep."

She let out a dramatic sigh and shuffled down.

The windows outside were starting to grow dark. I couldn't believe I'd spent the whole day here. It had taken a considerable amount of time to drag the dark fae to Iris's cottage and even more time to care for him. With the coming winter, the days were shorter, which didn't help. I needed to return before I was missed.

I got to my feet to head toward the door, but a figure blocked the way. Iris crossed her arms. "Where exactly do you think you're going?"

"Byrne Manor. It's getting late and," I said, poking at the blood stains on my waistcoat and light brown trousers, "I'm in desperate need of fresh clothes."

"You are not leaving me with him."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked. "Drag him back to the manor? I'm sure when I pull his body inside, the footmen will be like, ‘Ah, Aidan, what a lovely fae corpse you have there. Have a pleasant night.'"

Iris giggled, covering her mouth. "That might be a problem."

"So help me out. I will come back tomorrow."

"I am helping you," she said. "But you will not leave me here alone with him. If I had it my way, I'd hit him on the head and bury him in my garden."

"This again," I said, then paused. "Have you actually done that?"

"That's for me to know, and you to never find out." She cocked an eyebrow, and I let the matter drop. I truly didn't want to know if she'd killed wayward travelers and fed them to her plants. Anything was possible with Iris.

I peered at the unconscious fae. I couldn't drag him with me, nor would I subject him to murder if Iris was serious. If she wasn't, she'd probably kick him out into the cold. Pulling off my jacket, I returned to his side.

"I guess, I'm spending the night." No doubt there would be a fair amount of ribbing when I returned in the morning, wearing the same clothes.