“Sorry.”
She placed her hand on top of his head, sweet as a benediction. “Do what you have to. It stung at first, but maybe that means its drawing out the toxins.”
Kheelan had no idea how long to leave the washcloth on the wound. Once, when he was twelve, he’d been stung by a single elf dart. Annwynn had been there to immediately clean up the wound and put on the medicine. It had still hurt like hell. No doubt Skye was in quite a bit of pain now the numbness had worn off. He had half-hoped Annwynn would appear to advise him, but no such luck. Of all people, he knew not to rely on any fairy aid.
He continued to pull out the bits of fairy arrows, then dabbed each puncture wound with the soaked washcloths. At last, he finished the leg.
“We need to get your jacket and shirt off,” he said. Her white skin was even paler than usual, her eyes clouded, brow wrinkled in pain.
“It hurts too much to even be shy right now.” She managed a tight smile as she helped him shed her jacket and shirt. Skye’s skin was white and creamy perfection. Until he caught a glimpse of her back.
“What the hell is this?” He stared in horror at a row of quarter-sized scabs down the middle of her spine. “What have they done to you?”
Skye jerked away from his scrutiny and lay on the couch, effectively blocking his view.
“Those were already there,” she answered, blushing. “I must have scraped up against something at the shop. Don’t you need to get that medicine on me?”
Kheelan shook his head. She was hiding something, but now was not the time to push it. Upset as he was, he couldn’t help noticing the matching lacy pink bra and the iron medallion he’d given her earlier, nestled in the vee of her breasts. Some protection it turned out to be. He tore his eyes from her cleavage, and his fingers trembled slightly as he set about removing the shards on her right arm. Once the wounds were clean, he took out the ointment.
“What’s in that?” Skye asked.
He figured conversation would keep her mind from worry, and his mind from sex.
“This is the actual antidote. The wound cleaner was lobelia mixed in apple cider vinegar. The ointment is made of plantain, chickweed and burdock root. Annwynn swears by it.”
“Annwynn?”
“My childhood Guardian.”
“I hope she was nothing like Finvorra.”
As gently as possible, he meticulously applied the ointment to every wound on her arm and leg. After finishing, he sat back on his heels and surveyed his handwork with a skeptical frown.
“I feel a little better already.” Skye tucked a strand of hair behind his ears. “The stings are fading a bit.”
He ran a finger down her thigh, checking one last time to see if he might have missed anything.
Skye drew in a raspy breath.
“Did I hurt you?” He leaned in closer and examined her skin.
“It’s not that,” she answered breathlessly.
She sounded funny. Kheelan glanced up and caught the stark hunger in her green eyes. Sexual hunger.
Need slammed into his gut like a heavy weight punch, constricting his airways, commanding all his attention. His fingers reversed path and trailed upward toward the red patch of hair visible through her pink panties. He cupped her and she pressed into his palm. The silk lace was smooth and damp.
Skye whimpered and the sound of her passion spurred him on. Just a little taste. He lowered his head and rained kisses on the soft flesh of her thighs before placing his mouth over her core. His tongue slid into the hot folds of her womanhood and he feasted on her essence. Exquisite. The bit of lace added to the texture and excitement, more sensuous than if she had been laid bare.
Her hands pressed down on the top of his head, driving him deeper, telling him she wanted more. Kheelan slipped a finger inside the elastic lining and thrust finger inside. Skye moaned and her insides clinched and squeezed against it.
A clattering of shattered glass exploded from the hallway. A sound Kheelan well recognized. Damn Finvorra. He’d stumbled again and dropped a glass of whiskey on the floor.
Skye scrambled to a seating position and crossed her hands over her breasts. Hastily, Kheelan grabbed an afghan from the back of the sofa and threw it over her body.
“Be right back,” he promised. With any luck, he’d get to Finvorra before his guardian stumbled into the den, demanding that he clean up the mess.
Kheelan hurried into the hallway where Finvorra leaned against a wall staring stupidly down at the wreckage. Kheelan ushered him into his recliner, cleaned up the spill and broken glass, and retrieved more medicine from the pantry.
In the den, Skye was already back in her jeans and slipping on her sneakers. She wrinkled her nose at the vile looking container of sludgy, black liquid he held.
“What the hell is that?”