The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

do this? They went to battle day in, day out, for weeks on end. No wonder so many of them died.

The Unseelie began to pace away from her, but stumbled when pain blasted through their bodies. He reached out a hand that did not catch the tree and fell onto his side. The heavy thump echoed through Aisling, a mere pang when she knew it knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Stubborn man,” she muttered under her breath. “I can help, you know.”

“Yes, you could have. While I was fighting off those cursed things, you were taking your sweet time figuring out a puzzle.”

“Would you stop arguing for a second and let me look at you?”

He rolled onto his hands and knees, glaring up at her from the ground. “Why are you so arrogant?”

Laughter burst out of her chest. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I can feel that you are not, in fact, fine. You’re driving me crazy with your pain, so let me help.”

“I don’t need help from you.”

“Just a few seconds ago you were saying I could have helped. Get your story straight. And while you wrack your brain for the next insult, lean against the tree so I can tend to your wounds.”

She shoved her hands under his armpits, ignoring the pained groan and answering jolt in her shoulder, and dragged him to the tree.

“For a small woman, you’re surprisingly strong,” he ground out.

“A lifetime of hard work will do that to you. Lean back.”

She managed to get him wedged against the tree, hating to leave him there for even a second. Bad magic pulsed inside the bark. She pressed a hand against the trunk, waiting to feel the cold sting of darkness.

When she didn’t, she pulled it away and nodded. “I think it’s contained inside the tree, at least for now.”

The Unseelie listed to the side and pressed a hand against the ground for balance. “Are you a healer?”

“No, I’m not a healer.”

“Then why should I let you heal me? I can do it.”

“Are you really in any condition to be using magic?” She gave him a severe once over, plucking at the sodden fabric soaked with his blood. “Looks to me like you should just shut your mouth. But if you must open it and speak, ‘thank you’ is acceptable.”

He snapped his mouth shut and glared at her. But at least he stopped talking.

Aisling brushed aside the long tail of his hair and peeled back the shredded fabric of his shirt. The open wound was seeping. Sluggish red rivers trailed down his chest and arms.

Muttering under her breath, she focused on her own pain to identify any other wounds. Finally, she leaned back and gestured with her hands. “Off with the shirt.”

He arched a brow. “If you wanted to see me naked, then all you had to do was ask, witch.”

“I thought I said not to talk?”

“I’m not very good at that.” He gingerly reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head.

She might have enjoyed the smooth planes of muscle if she wasn’t breathless with her own pain. Aisling stilled her ragged breathing and reached out with shaking hands to help him remove the torn fabric. The sooner this was over with, the better they both would feel.

She hoped.

“All right,” she managed to breathe, “that’s over with. Now, it’s just getting the blood to stop.”

“Shouldn’t it be cleaning the wounds?”

“Blood first, clean later.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s backwards, witch.”

Impulsively she bit out, “Aisling.”

The Unseelie stilled. He didn’t even breathe as he stared up into her face, both eyes searching for hers even though he would never see them. “What did you say?”

His eyes burned. Aisling swallowed and touched a hand to her chest. “My name is Aisling.”

“That’s a foolish thing to tell a faerie.”

“You kept me alive in there. I think you’ve earned the name.” She mockingly shrugged. “Besides, if you hurt me, you hurt yourself.”

“Not forever. We’re going to break the binding curse.”

He seemed almost panicked by her admission. Why would he be so sorry on her behalf? It was his choice to use her name or not.

Aisling shook her head and slapped a hand to his wound. The sharp jab of pain was worth it when he hissed out a breath. “Stop dwelling on it, Unseelie. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She picked a long strand of thread out of his shoulder wound and brushed her fingers over the bloodied flesh. It wasn’t going to be clean any time soon, but faeries were supposed to heal fast. Theoretically, her plan should work fine.

His hand covered hers, warm and strong. “Bran. My name is Bran.”

Aisling’s lips curved into a brilliant smile he wouldn’t see, but she hoped he might be able to feel. The name filtered through her mind like the first ray of sun after a storm. Bran. A strong name that fit him like a glove.

“They named you after a raven?” she said with a quiet chuckle. “A little obvious, don’t you think?”

“You didn’t guess it?”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

He huffed and leaned back against the tree. “Don’t think much of it, witch. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She smirked. A name might not mean something now, but it did mean something in the end. And if he finally trusted her, then perhaps he would explain what their fool’s errand really was.

“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” she began, “but it’s going to help.”

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“It’s not.”

She grabbed a handful of mud at the base of the tree and mashed it into the open wound on his shoulder. The earth was fairly clean. No people had passed by, and the only thing she was concerned about was animals. The mud would dry and close up the wound until they could find a quiet place to rest.

He hissed out a breath. “What are you doing?”

“Hush, you said I could treat your wounds.”

“Not like an animal!”

“If it works for animals, then it’ll work for you. Hush.”

It would at least give them time. Lorcan would