“No, I’m okay.” I went to work on the dressing over my shoulder, breathing through my teeth against the hurt until the bandage came unstuck. A moan escaped my throat.
I could hear Val shifting outside the door. “You don’t sound okay.”
“I’ll be fine. What are you doing here anyway?”
“Checking on you.”
“You’re supposed to be on a backpacking trip.”
“Bad weather. We came back early. Thorin told me what happened.”
“Tattletale,” I grumbled. “Go away and let me take a shower.”
“I brought your clothes. Thorin said you might need them.”
I paused and smacked myself on the forehead. I hadn’t thought about what to do after the shower. “Did you bring a first aid kit, too?”
“Why? Are you planning on getting in a fight with the soap?”
“I’ve got to put something over these bites and scratches when I’m done.”
He said nothing, but something thudded against the door.
“Val?”
“Yeah?” His voice sounded hoarse and strained.
“First aid kit? Bandages?”
“Okay, I’ll go look.”
I plucked a washcloth from a stack of linens on the counter and stepped into the stream of water, careful to keep my right side, the ravaged side, out of direct contact. Thorin kept a collection of shampoos and soaps lined on the shelves built into the shower walls. I scrubbed, and rinsed, and cursed when I moved the wrong way.
Maybe Thorin had one of those tankless water heaters, because the hot water never gave out. I stayed in the shower long enough to provoke another worried knock from Val. “Solina?”
“Can’t a girl take a shower in peace?” I barked. I knew he only wanted to help, but the pain, Thorin’s strong medicines, and my swirly, mixed-up feelings about Val had exhausted my supply of patience.
“Just making sure you didn’t drown in there.”
“Go away, Val.”
My fingers had shriveled into prunes by the time I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. Thorin had stocked puffy white towels on a bathroom shelf. I patted around the sore spots with one towel and wrapped another turban-style around my hair. A bathrobe hung behind the door—a Thorin-sized bathrobe, of course, but it would have to do. I slipped it on and looped the sash around my hips, rolled up the cuffs, and let the collar hang loose from my injured shoulder.
“Val, bring me the kit,” I said, sticking my head out the bathroom door. He loped down the hall, carrying a case under his arm. I held out my hand, careful to keep my shoulder hidden behind the door.
“Let me help,” Val said, holding the case behind his back.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you to see.”
“I can take it,” he insisted. “I promise you I’ve seen worse.”
“You’ve never seen it on me, though.”
Val bit his lip and considered my point. “True.”
“Compromise. You can do my neck and shoulder.” It hurt when I raised my arm too high, though I could have toughed it out if I had too. “But save me some modesty and let me do my ribs.”
Val passed me the case. “Deal.”
I fiddle-farted the bandage application, making a mess. Thorin had dressed the wounds elegantly. Mine would win no awards, but they did the job. I finished my doctoring and went to the living room, but I was surprised to find Val waiting for me with company.
Thorin had shed his coat and tie and wore his shirt open enough to reveal the thin collar of metal at his neck. His cuffs were turned back, showing the strange bracelets he always wore. He leaned against the kitchen doorway and inclined his head in my direction by way of a greeting.
“I didn’t know I was going to have an audience,” I said, clutching the first aid kit tighter to my chest.
“I’ve already seen your injuries,” Thorin said, waving a gesture of dismissal. “It’s nothing new.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. Revealing my grisly wounds bothered me much less than the prospect of standing before Thorin, disheveled in a huge bathrobe and turban that kept sliding over my eye; never mind that he had already seen me in much less. I felt a little like a wounded rabbit getting the stare-down from a couple of grumpy grizzlies. Sure, they had showed me kindness, rescued me, and protected me, but my prey survival instincts urged me not to let my guard down. “Where’s Skyla?” I asked.
“I sent her home,” Thorin said.
I stepped back, meaning to put some space between us, but Val stepped in my way. He put his hand on my good shoulder and peered into my face. Concern drew lines on his brow and in the corner of his eyes. “C’mon,” he urged me. “Let me see.”
I pursed my lips and huffed but didn’t object when Val peeled back the collar of my robe. He gasped. “What the hell, Solina? You look like roadkill.” Val took my hand and brought my knuckles to his lips. He leaned closer to peer at me, inspecting me like a broken gear in a fine watch. “You’re lucky to have survived.”
