Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,23
a sniff of my arm, weirdly giddy at the proof that I’m no longer a stink-fest, and brace myself in case he’s angry about the puddles. “You can come in.” Like he really needs my permission.
Sylas strides into the room and stops a few feet from me, eyeing the floor with a puzzled expression.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, clutching the side of the tub. “I tried not to make a mess, but…”
His gaze snaps to me—to my face and then to my arm taut as it balances me. His mouth tightens.
“You couldn’t get into the water. I should have realized. My apologies. The next time—we have a sort of sauna in the lower chambers, with a small in-ground pool you could use instead. It has steps.”
He expects me to be here long enough that I’ll take multiple baths. It’s hard to know what to make of that when I have no idea how often faeries generally bathe.
I glance around. Better not to make myself any more of a nuisance than I already have while I am here, while he’s being kind to me. “If there’s a mop, I could clean it up—”
He shakes his head before I can finish. “I’ll see that it’s taken care of. I have something for you that should make getting just about anywhere other than into the bath easier for you.”
He steps closer, holding out his hands, and that’s when I register the object he’s brought me. It looks like a snapped off branch, nearly as thick as my wrist, blunt at the narrower end and spreading into a shallow crescent at the thicker end. The crescent is polished smooth, but the rest of the surface is covered in bark.
Sylas turns the branch-staff-thing so the blunt end touches the floor and stands it next to me, studying it. Then understanding clicks in my head.
“It’s a crutch?” I say.
He nods. “Not quite tall enough, I think. I had to estimate from memory.” His fingers close around the top of the crutch, a few soft syllables slip from his mouth, and before my eyes, the branch grows. Just a couple of inches, so it’s the perfect height to fit under my armpit.
More magic. How much can he do with it? Suddenly I’m remembering the houses I saw from the bedroom window that looked like twisted-off tree stumps. Did the fae grow those homes rather than build them?
Sylas is waiting for me to try out his gift. I’m pretty curious too. I tuck it under my arm, ease some of my weight onto it, and take a few tentative steps away from the tub.
The crutch’s base stays steady on the floor, and my damaged foot doesn’t ache at all when I don’t need to fully press down on it. I wouldn’t want to get too used to this thing, since who knows how long I’ll be able to keep it, but for now it’ll at least allow me to walk around the keep without needing to cling to the furniture or my new captors.
I’m already that much closer to making my escape, and I have the man who brought me here to thank.
And I should actually do that. I give him a cautious smile, not sure how much gratitude he’ll need to be satisfied. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Sylas offers a restrained smile, so I guess that was enough. A trace of humor gleams in his dark eye. “It benefits us as well, not needing to act as your crutch ourselves.”
I wet my lips, hesitating over my next question. “So, it’s okay, then? If I wander around this place a bit?”
“Nothing within the keep should pose a danger. Any rooms we’d prefer to keep private will be locked. All I ask is that you stay inside. Aerik and his cadre, perhaps his whole pack, will be on the hunt for you. We can’t risk anyone seeing you.”
Because then he and his cadre would lose me. But it’s hard to resent that when he’s just granted me so much more freedom than I’ve had in years.
I drag in a breath and find I have the courage to push a little harder. “You need something from me—like they did. Something to do with my blood?”
I can see Sylas withdraw behind that tattooed, square-jawed face with its vicious scar. The hint of warmth that was there an instant ago vanishes. He called himself a lord, and it shows in both the sternness of his gaze and the lifting of his