Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,27
left from my time in the real world, before faeries and cages. But maybe I’d feel better having it closer to the chin-length bob from when I was twelve and had no idea any of this existed?
“All right,” I say. “Just as long as it doesn’t end up with big chunks missing or something.” Before the words have even finished tumbling out, my face flushes. I’m not really in a position to be making demands.
August just chuckles. “I may not be a trained barber, but I can manage to do a better job than that.”
He goes into the kitchen and comes back with what appears to be a large carving knife. My back stiffens automatically. August halts a few feet away, holding the knife with the tip pointing at the floor. “It’s an enchanted blade—it’ll cut where I need it to in an instant. I promise I’ll be careful.”
He looks so hopeful that I’ll let him finish his work, so eager to reassure me, that I manage to nod. If he wanted to stab me, he could have done it the moment we walked in here, no need for some complicated subterfuge about fixing my hair.
And he’s telling the truth. He lifts the hair from my back with another brush of his fingers and slices through the strands so swiftly that I feel nothing but the patter of what remains hitting my shoulder blades. When I glance back, he’s got about four inches of tattered tangles in his hand. At least for the few moments before he murmurs another magical word, and they burst into flames. I flinch, but the fire is already gone, my hair only a sprinkling of ashes that August tosses away.
“It’s better not to have your hair lying around—it can be used for enchantments and things,” he says, as if reminding me of something I should already know, and offers me an easy smile. On him, the gesture doesn’t seem to be hiding ulterior motives like so many of the other grins that’ve been aimed at me since I got here. “Swivel all the way around, and I’ll tackle that mis-healed foot of yours.”
He’d better not be planning on using the carving knife on that part of my body.
I do as he asked, and he picks up my warped foot by the heel to rest it on his knee. It’s bare where it protrudes from the leg of my jeans—the fae men didn’t bother to give me socks or shoes. A subtle discouragement from attempting to make a run for it or simple oversight since they knew they weren’t letting me outside anyway?
August slips his thumb over the lump of misshapen bone, one side of his mouth slanting downward. His light touch doesn’t wake up the usual ache. Then he lifts his gaze, his golden eyes darkened with regret so tangible it sends an unexpected flutter through my chest.
“The injury happened quite a while ago?” he asks.
“About eight years,” I say, my voice falling back into its previous whisper. “As well as I’ve been able to keep track.”
“Feet are difficult as it is—a lot of little bones that have to fit together just right. I’m not sure I have the skill that I could have set them properly even a week afterward. Now that the pieces have had so much time to fuse together and settle into their new form… It’s easier to mend something than to break it apart once it’s combined into something new—that would be like trying to magic a cake back into flour and eggs. I’m afraid I’d hurt you worse.”
“That’s okay.” I hadn’t really believed he’d fix that, I realize. Would Sylas even want him to? The faerie lord gave me the crutch rather than asking August to check the bones. Maybe he could tell from a glance it was too complicated a task, or maybe he doesn’t want me recovering quite that much.
But I don’t think August would have offered up the possibility if he hadn’t planned to help if he could. As far as I can tell, he’s more disappointed than I am.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I blurt out, and then snap my mouth shut, my cheeks flaring hotter than before.
August blinks at me. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I grope for the right words. “I just mean—no one else here was offering to fix my hair or my foot… or anything.” Even Sylas was brisk and business-like about the crutch. Whitt has barely bothered to pay