LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II
I try to sit up, but whatever the hell she made me drink is impairing my vision and agility. The pain in my shoulder is still there, almost bearable, but there. As I try to move my arm, I hiss, falling back into the bed. The cloth is wet and cold beneath me, and I can feel a new sweat beckoning.
“Be careful,” her scent vigorously hits me, stronger than the herbs she made me drink. Yet she is hovering above me with another tea in the small wooden vessel.
I do not know if I am panting because of how close she is or because of a new fever threatening to rip from my skin. The bandages begin to itch, I know I should leave them, yet I cannot help it.
Maivena catches my wrist; she pleads another warning for me to be careful, reminding me not to touch any of the rather slowly healing wounds.
I attempt to sit up again; this time, I have her help. She grips my stronger hand while supporting the other side of my body.
“Here,” her voice is but a whisper, I still my vision on her. She is bringing the vessel to my lips, her hand grazing from my shoulder to my neck, shooting a shiver down my spine. I grunt in replacement of the moan that menaces from my chest.
I look down to the steaming liquid questionably and raise an eyebrow. “I would think you are trying to sedate me again.” I speak lazily, and I still fight keep my eyes open—to look at her without hazing sight.
I espy the corner of her lips raising at my remark . . . then I see it. The large bruise on her cheek nearly reaching her eye, the split in her lip, and the cut in her chin.
The hazing in my vision is gone. I push away the vessel she holds, and her eyebrows furrow.
I summon every bit of strength I have left, sluggishly, I bring my only hand I can use upward. She looks down, the faint golden glow flickers in my left palm—my healing capabilities are faltering in my current state. I heavily breathe through the weakened parts of me to will every bit of healing power I can.
Maivena grabs my hand and leisurely shakes her head. A smile on her face appears and soon fades.
“I can heal that,” I force out the words.
“You should not weaken yourself more; savor your energy. I am fine,” she tries to bring the tea to my lips again, and I move my face away.
I attempt once more, pulling forth more pieces of strength I have to heal her.
“It may not work.”
“And why would that be?” Annoyance is laced through my tone.
“Your body is trying to use its own healing abilities to cure itself. Please, do not waste the last of your energy you have tonight on–”
“Do not say what I think you are about to.” I concentrate again, ignoring her pleas. If it is the last thing I do tonight before blacking out, it will be to heal her face. Fuck that tea in her hands.
“Come closer,” I beckon. That salty citrus scent rocks through me, almost knocking me unconscious as she closes in.
I grunt through it again and reach out as Maivena hesitantly sits closer; my palm is steadily glowing in its healing shade of gold.
“You are weakening . . . do not. You–”
“Hush, Maivena,” I say in a pant.
I lean in closer as my hand gently touches her bruised cheek. “It will tingle,” I warn.
She slightly jumps as the bruise slowly fades, taking her purplish skin back to its glorious brown shade. I cannot look her in the eyes; if I do, I will completely lose focus.
The cut in her lip seals over, fading her softly rounded chin back to normal.
The moment I try to look into her eyes, I cannot.
I nearly collapse into the bed, feeling rendered short of all energy and power. But, instead, she catches me by the arm and holds me up.
Maivena coos. “Thank you.”
“Do not–do not thank me . . . it is my absolute right to take care of you.”
I can feel her gaze studying my face, even as my eyes are closed now.
I always know when she is watching me. Even when she thinks I do not realize, I feel those green eyes at any given moment.
I begin to sway, but that one hand manages to keep me steady enough to bring that damn vessel to my lips that she has been shoving at me.
“It is a pain-relieving tea; it will help keep you asleep as well.” She informs, realizing my avoidance.
Finally, I drink it, tasting the essence of chamomile and jasmine.
Maivena slowly lays me down, keeping my naked body covered with the sheet, anything heavier will make this fever worse than it already is. I do recall fighting with Amias as he removed my clothing, so Maivena did not have to.
She moves to stand, but I call after her.
“Remember that promise I made you?” I ask. “Seven years ago. That promise.”
My death wishes upon anyone who harms her.
She is slow to respond as she fumbles around with something on the nightstand. “Yes,” she mumbles.
“He is next.”
“LAVEN, YOU MUST BATHE, you smell like–like shit.” I weakly open my eyes to Amias hovering above me.
“I will change the bedding,” Maivena says. “But if he is too weak to get out of bed, he should rest more.”
I lazily smirk. “She says I should rest more.”
“You weakling.” Amias glowers. “You are eating this up, are you not? You just love being treated so tenderly by her.”
“Yes, I do. And I will be weak for as long as I can while she gladly heals me.”
Maivena clears her throat from across the room, watching Amias still hover above me. Neither of us are speaking aloud. To her, we are only staring at each other with smirks on our faces, our faces that are relatively too close to seem casual.
“I–I can leave if you. I just–if you both are–” her words jumble, and my face beats red.
“She believes I am trying to fuck you.” Amias grins.
“Get the fuck out of my face!” I reach up my arm that is still in good health, pushing him far away before Maivena thinks any more than she already has.
“It was the mental bond. We were only talking,” Amias smiles and sits in a corner chair.
She refuses to look at us and I shoot a warning glare at Amias, who is suppressing his laughter.
Maivena gathers a food tray as Roaner and Morano ascend into the room with smiles on their faces. I can feel their judgmental words fighting to escape their mouths before they say them.
“You just had to get beaten up by a rogue.” Morano chuckles.
Roaner goes to speak, but he stops. He looks toward Maivena, who is standing against the wall, one hand hidden behind her back. Looking down at the table next to her; only the sheath that holds my dagger is sitting there. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her fear lingers like a heavy cloud over the room.
Too many. There are too many men in this room for her to feel comfortable.
Roaner and Morano sense something is off as well.
I watch only her. And the death grip on my dagger behind her back.
Roaner takes a step backward, creating more distance between him and Maivena. Morano follows in his lead, taking a stride backward as well.
“Maivena.”
She ignores me.
Her eyes are only fixated on Roaner and Morano, she even glances over Amias.
“They will not–”
“How do you know.” She interrupts.
She is not asking questions. She is demanding.
She is only focused on the two new faces that have entered the room.
I force myself to sit up, the pain in my shoulder eats me alive. Then, groaning lowly at the near numbing agony, I push further through it.
“Bonded by blood or not, Maivena, if they ever fucking thought of it–”
“Which we would never,” Morano growls.
Roaner’s Wolf is dancing in his eyes. I can sense the same anger in him as the day he killed the men who assaulted his mother.
“As I was saying,” I continue. “Bonded by blood or not, they would suffer just like the rest did.” There is confusion on her face after I speak but she does not look at me.
Did she not believe me when I said I will rid the world of the men who hurt her?
I grip the bedding, stopping myself from screaming at the pain radiating through my body as I move across the, nearing closer to where she is.
“Maivena, look at me.” I plead.
She does not respond; she still has that steady grip on the dagger hidden behind her back.
I turn toward Roaner, Morano, and Amias.
They all nod before leaving the room, shutting the door quietly.
“I–” she begins.
I hold my hand out. “Come here,” I speak low and tenderly.
Maivena immediately, but stiffly, walks toward the bed, stopping where I am seated.
Her shaking fingers place the dagger in mine; I toss it onto the bed and take both of her hands in my one. The only hand I am capable of using.
“Breathe,” I look to the woman whose eyes only stare at our conjoined palms. She finally takes in a sharp breath, her corset slowly rises and falls. “They will never touch you. Ever.”
“But how do you know?” Her voice cracks before her cheeks flood with tears that fall against our hands.
I tug on her hands that I still hold; my stomach tightens, feeling her fingers gripping mine back. Those generous green orbs finally look up, and the wind is sucked from me. This is the look I have always feared seeing—pure sadness and fright. “I cannot be the one to explain it. What I can do is help you trust them. I could tell you all day that I know they could never bear the thought of harming you or any woman in any form. Nonetheless, in the end, it is you that must develop the trust there. I cannot do it for you, but I can help you.”
She nods. “I–I am sorry. I was not going to use the dagger–”
“Do not apologize for this. You have every right to fear any man who just glances at you. You are one devastatingly beautiful creature, Maivena. It is a blessing and a wretched curse to be a woman in this world. And I can protect you from anything and everyone, and when I am not around, they will. Although, that dagger you wielded in mere seconds may convince me that you know how to defend yourself.”
I continue to stare upon her. I cannot make out a single emotion in her eyes, yet I know she feels entirely safe right here. Right where she is.
I smile, and I see her lips twitch. “Who taught you to use a dagger?”
“My father.” She whispers.
“If you would like,” I offer. “I can arrange training for you so your memory is refreshed on wielding all weapons.” If she is ever alone, as Amias said she was when leaving him at the market, I need her to know how to defend herself.
He told me of the direction she was going, and it is the exact direction of the brothels in the city.
“I will need to speak with my father, he will want to be present or request to be the one to reteach me. With the restrictions of servants not being allowed to train, unless supervised or permitted, I have not been trained in years.”
“Did he teach you to wield any other weapons?”
“A bow and a sword, but I am not great with a sword.” She shakes her head.
As I try to question her comfortability with other weapons I can feel Roaner tugging on the bond before speaking. “May I come in? It is only me.”
“Roaner is outside. Are you fine with him coming in? He will stay by the door.”
Maivena glances between the door and me.
“You can say no.”
She shakes her head. “I am fine.”
“If you frighten her,” I warn.
“I would never. Is she all right if I come in?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Move gradually. Let her see every movement you make.”
The door pushes open, and the strings of his untied undershirt are dripping with blood. Maivena steps closer to me and I cut my eyes at him.
“It is done.”
“What is done?” I snap.
“His name was Curtus.” Roaner fixates on Maivena. “The guard who laid his hand upon your face . . . more than once. He admitted to it.”
I do not dare to look at her or think of the number of times that fucking man has tried to put his paws all over her.
“How did you do it?” I ask.
Roaner looks down at my hand that still holds Maivena’s. Then, as fast as possible, she tugs away and takes multiple steps backward.
And so suddenly, that moment I was cherishing is gone. And I do not know when I could ever get it back.
Roaner holds his hand up that is coated in fresh, dry blood, and I nod.
“I took his throat.” He says all too casually. “There are consequences for these acts Maivena, always.”
