The Faceless Woman Emma Hamm (ebook reader screen TXT) 📖

know what to do, but he didn’t know they were back. Where was the damn cat anyway? The witch had spent much of his human life healing others. That was why he’d wanted to use magic in the first place.

“Turn,” she instructed. “Let me get your back.”

Grunting, Bran pushed himself from the roots and knelt at her feet.

He was so tall his head reached her chest. His eyes drifted shut, pain and exhaustion swelling over the two of them in a crushing wave. She listed to the side but forced herself to remain standing and cross behind him.

Her hand on his unharmed shoulder balanced her. Even wounded and in pain, he was warm. She flexed her fingers, feeling the cords of muscle bunch against her palm.

The long lines of his back captivated her gaze. Defined muscles bulged, dipping into the hollow of his waist, creating hollows in the small of his back. He had dimples there. Even corded with muscle, he had small indents begging to be touched.

She swallowed hard, and the eyes on her palms blinked open.

His muscles flexed as she drew her hand from the nape of his neck and followed the sword slash down his torso. It was a shallow cut, but she could hardly focus on that. All she saw was the swath of pale skin slowly bumping with gooseflesh as she stroked a gentle hand over him.

“All done,” she whispered. “That will stop the bleeding long enough for Lorcan to clean the wounds.”

“Why were you so free with his name?” he asked, voice hoarse. “You weren’t free with your own, so obviously you know what I can do with a name.”

“It’s not his name.” At his sharp glance, she shrugged. “He’s a secretive one. Lorcan is what I called him as a child, and it stuck.”

“Then it’s as good as a name.”

“Not for magic.” Aisling patted his shoulder and stepped back on shaking legs. “We need to get away from this tree.”

“Where is your companion?”

“Damned if I know. The cat does what he wants.”

A branch above their head shook wildly. She glanced up to see a furry body slowly standing, stretching his paws and arching his back before leaping down to land at her feet. Lorcan yawned again, tiny fangs blinking in the light.

“Were you looking for me?” he asked.

Insulted, Aisling gestured at the blood on both herself and the Unseelie. “What do you think, cat?”

“No need to get snippy,” Lorcan grumbled. “I was waiting for the two of you for hours. I thought I’d take a nap.”

“You’re always napping.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he climbed up the long column of the Unseelie’s legs. His large feet punched each wound on the way up, and she swore a grin spread across Lorcan’s face at the answering grunts.

“Down,” he advised. “All the way down or it won’t heal right.”

Bran cast her an incredulous glance before he laid out on the dirt. “What are you going to do?”

“Heal you. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Never been healed like this before.”

Lorcan settled himself on the center of Bran’s chest. He lifted a paw, licked it slowly, and sneezed.

Aisling covered her mouth, holding in a giggle as Bran glared at her again. “Is this how he heals? I’ll admit, it doesn’t seem very useful.”

“I don’t think he’s started yet.”

“Oh, that’s fine then.” Bran’s fingers curled in the dirt as he stared up at the sky. “I’ll just lay here, bleeding out.”

When Lorcan slapped the paw directly over the faerie’s wound, they both hissed at each other. “Healing is an art, Unseelie. I’m not going to rush it, and you aren’t going to rush me. Otherwise, I’ll grow another arm from this wound and we’ll see how much you like that.”

“I’m sure the other Unseelies would love it,” Bran gritted out.

“Oh, I know how much you all enjoy your freaks. I’ll make sure your new limb is as uncomfortable to look at as possible.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Aisling clapped her hands. “Idiots! Just heal him Lorcan, please. And Unseelie, keep your mouth shut while he does it. I’m tired of feeling your pain when I didn’t earn these wounds.”

“You most certainly earned those—” Bran’s voice was muffled by a cat paw stuck squarely over his mouth.

“Why are you two always like this?” Lorcan asked. “It’s like you couldn’t get along if the world was ending.”

“He’s sweet on me, and I just can’t lower myself to be interested in a faerie.” Aisling mock-flicked her hair over her shoulder and spun away on her heel. “Get it done, Lorcan. I’m going back to the campfire. You two can join me when you’re done pissing in the corners.”

She kept her shoulders squared and head high as she descended the trail, when in reality she wanted to fall apart. She was exhausted, her shoulder was on fire, her back ached, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep for a hundred years.

They couldn’t know it, of course. The binding curse would transfer her exhaustion to the Unseelie, but he could easily mistake it for his own. They’d had a trying day.

Her ankles twisted in the muck and mire. It sucked at her legs, trying to hold her firmly in place for whatever creature that would wander upon her. The last thing she needed was some bog faerie finding her stuck in the mud. The Unseelie court was rumored to eat weaklings.

“You won’t find me very tasty,” she muttered, pulling her legs out one by one. “I’m too tough and far too bitter.”

That was the worst part about this journey. Aisling didn’t like the self-revelations she was having. Her life had been simple. She’d been rude, caustic, downright mean to drive people away so she wouldn’t have to remember what it felt like to be left alone in the dark.

But that damned Unseelie was wiggling his way through her defenses, and she could already see the writing on the wall. She liked him. As a travel companion, partner, and a person.

The sparkle in his eye when one side of