Part 16

The pain in her hand had turned into a dull throb, a scar that would be entirely forgettable with enough time. She led Ronan to one of the empty cottages at furthest end of the town, scouring the dusty rooms for enough candles to offer them both a little more light than what the thieves' wick offered.

Ronan was still mesmerized by their find, letting Zara pull him around like a puppet as she lowered him down into a kitchen chair and pushed the rest of his torn shirt from his shoulders. His skin was hot beneath her touch and she felt idiotically embarrassed for some reason at the sight of his naked chest. How many times had she treated someone with similar wounds before? Even Gray? Yet he had never made her feel so aware. She forced her eyes away from him, away from attempting to learn each scar on his body, and instead began digging around in her bag. After a moment, she produced a small, silver flask Gran had given her before she had passed. This seemed to catch Ronan's attention.

He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been hiding booze this entire time?" His voice was light and teasing.

Zara scoffed, opening the top and pouring some onto a piece of cloth. "Hardly. This isn't the type of stuff worth drinking."

"Then what-" He sentence turned into a yelp of pain as Zara pressed the fabric to his cut. "Could've used a warning!"

She allowed herself a small smirk. "Hush, you survived a round with a ghoul. A little sting shouldn't mean anything to you."

He grumbled under his breath. "Yes, but still hurts."

"When will we test the mirror? To see if it works?" she asked abruptly, in an attempt to distract him.

He flinched a little as she moved the cloth further over the cut. "Tomorrow. As soon as we can. And tonight I'll read through my father's notes again to see what else I can find out. I just can't believe we really found it."

She gave him a look. "Did you doubt our abilities, or that it was real?"

He gave her a smile. "I knew you were a good investment. I was more wary of the information I had."

"Investment." She snorted a little, pouring more alcohol onto her cloth.

Ronan let out a hiss, his stomach contracting a little. "Tell me something. Distract me."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise before quickly rearranging her expression. "Something about what?"

"Anything. You. The guard. Something."

She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "I was the youngest member in over fifty years. At first they weren't going to take me, but I insisted I could pass any test they gave me. I was desperate enough to believe that I could anyways."

When she glanced up at Ronan, he looked impressed. "So you passed?"

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Not all of them. I failed the weapons portion miserably." She snuck a look at him. "But they said I had heart so they agreed to let me stay on as a trainee until I was ready to test again. Plus I had nowhere else to go."

"I'm not surprised. You are relentless." There was laughter in his voice and she shook her head, but couldn't hide her smile all the same. "I've never met anyone who is as stubborn as you are. That and your intelligence alone make you a force to be reckoned with."

She kept her head bowed to avoid letting him see the color in her cheeks. He caught her wrist and stilled her movements. When she glanced up at him, the look on his face made her slightly breathless. And also slightly annoyed that he could do so little and make her feel so much.

"What about your hand?" he questioned, turning her palm over so she could see the thin sliver of dried blood across her skin. His thumb brushed the sensitive skin of her wrist and she gently tugged her hand out of his grasp.

"I'm not worried about me right now. You on the other hand...I don't know if I have anything to stitch this with, but I think we should close the wound. You're not going to like it."

His expression shifted into one of uncertainty as he sat back in his chair. "I already don't like where this is going."

"I've done it a hundred times," she said, and pulled down the collar of her shirt slightly to show him a raised pink scar around her shoulder.

He seemed then to realize what she was suggesting and balled his hands into fists. "Are you sure that's necessary?"

"Well, we could wait. But you're still bleeding. Not to mention risk of infection, and we don't have anything to treat it with. And we're far from anyone who can help," she reminded him. He didn't respond for a moment, and then finally nodded his head quickly. Zara pulled a hunting knife from a leather casing in her bag, holding the metal over the flame of the nearest candle. She handed the knife's case to Ronan. "Here- you might want to bite down on something."

He looked seconds away from changing his mind. Zara focused on appearing as calm as possible. What she was about to do was going to hurt him, not a thought she particularly enjoyed but it might also keep him alive. She waited until the blade was hot to the touch and glanced over at the huntsman.

"I'll be quick about it."

He let out a sigh. "I'm sure, you won't enjoy a moment of torturing me."

The only response she offered was a pointed look and a slight roll of her eyes. She repositioned herself on the floor in front of him, kneeling. She waited until he had the leather case in-between his teeth before leaning forward and pressed the wide edge of the blade against his wound. Ronan's response was immediate, his entire body stiffening as a muffled groan of pain left his lips. She only left the blade on his skin for a moment before pulling it away.

"Only twice more, I swear," she assured him at the miserable look on his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his skin pale.

"Give me the flask," he said after removing the case from his teeth. His voice left little room for question and Zara found herself immediately handing over the silver flask. Ronan put the bottle to his lips and took a long drink, flinching at the taste and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he'd finished. "Okay, now you can continue."

"Four seconds," she reminded him and he squeezed his eyes shut. Zara leaned over him again and pressed the blade against the smooth skin of his stomach once more, sealing the wound closed. Then a final time. Ronan's chest was heaving, a thin shimmer of sweat coating his body and she swore she could feel his heart pounding. "Last bit, and then we're done, Ronan."

"Are you trying to murder me, woman?" he asked with wide eyes, watching as she doused the cloth with yet another pour of the alcohol. She ignored him and Ronan let out a groan and braced himself once again. His hands dug into edges of his seat, a small cry of pain leaving his lips as she dabbed at the sealed cut one final time. A string of colorful curse words tumbled from his lips.

Zara's eyes swept over him. She knew firsthand the kind of pain that came with cauterizing a wound and also knew nothing she would say would offer much relief at this point. Words weren't probably much good. And the utter ridiculousness of the thought that was crossing her mind was possibly a foolish idea. Yet before she could think it through she was placing her hands on either side of his face and leaning in, pressing her lips hard against his.

His surprise was almost comical and she would've laughed had the situation been any different. His body grew taught, seemingly frozen for a moment, before his hands were cupping her face and drawing her closer to him. She meant for it to be nothing more than a firm, quick kiss but his tongue was suddenly tailing across her lower lip, melting her resolve. Hesitantly, she allowed him to deepen the kiss. Her stomach fluttered. Never in her life had she been kissed like this...so softly yet intensely. Like she was his source of air, the thing keeping him alive. She was sinking into him as his mouth continued to work wonders against hers. He flinched suddenly and she realized she had brushed his wound and she pushed back.

Their eyes immediately met, and the room was filled with silence. The look on his face, and the hunger in his eyes. It made heat pool in her stomach. She wasn't used to this. She wasn't in control of this and that was a problem. She was on her feet instantly, opening her mouth only to quickly shut again when she realized she had nothing to say. For the first time in a long while, she didn't know how to react. For so long her mind and body had relied on instinct. When to fight, when to hide, when to run. Acting and reacting to each new situation with precision. This, though, was new. Her mind and her body, which were usually so in sync, couldn't seem to agree on whether kissing Ronan was a good idea.

With some effort, Ronan pushed himself to his feet, a groan of exertion escaping his lips. She wanted to tell him to sit and rest, to just never mind what had just happened. And at the same time she wanted to pull him closer. Ronan stepped forward and closed the space between them, deciding for her. This time, there was no hesitation as his hands gripped her hips and pressed her into him, her own two hands resting on his chest, his bare skin like fire beneath her fingertips. She felt breathless, her fingers sliding over his shoulders and over his back to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. It seemed to last forever, mouths moving in a slow, even rhythm, hands carefully gliding and touching, still testing what was too much and what wasn't enough. He pressed her back against the wall with his hips, and a small whimper escaped her, surprising not only her but Ronan too who let out a groan of his own in response.

Her face flushed, still trying to make sense of what had come over her, as he nipped at her lower lip and pulled away. His eyes flickered over her expression, attempting to glimpse what she was feeling. "Should we not..." he began, trailing off. "Is it wrong of us?"

Zara shook her head, although she wasn't sure which question she was answering. She just knew she wanted him to stay right where he was, pressed against her like this. A thought she never would've dreamt of having when he'd first approached her in that tavern.

His eyes flickered towards her lips once more and her pulse jumped, expecting him to lean in once more. And perhaps he would have— had it not been for the solemn, lonely howl of a wolf that sounded somewhere outside.