I wouldn’t know. He had strictly forbidden me from leaving Nathra City. I was the Night Enforcer and apparently too vital to the city to leave, even for a day. Seemed like another lie to me. He needed shepherds to tend his flock, to make sure his beasts didn’t devour his prisoners. Sneaking out wasn’t an option, either. Those traps of his weren’t ones you could fly over.
A growl escaped my throat and I shook myself, bits of white mane fluttering across my vision. This wasn’t the time. The Fae needed bandages and I needed to focus. I couldn’t tell how much blood he had lost and, if the purple of his face was any indication, the shifters hadn’t spared a blow.
The balcony outside my penthouse rose in front of me. I flapped once more, tucking my wings into my sides upon landing, and nudged the sliding glass door open with a claw. Across the hall from my own bedroom was an empty guest room. I sidled in, climbing onto the bed as gently as I could before I rolled to my side and bit through the belt. The weight of the Fae pinned my wing. I struggled to move him off, grunting softly.
This Fae is a pain in my—
He groaned. I stilled. I didn’t know what he would do if he woke and saw a winged lion sprawled on a strange bed beside him, but “nothing good” echoed through my mind. He didn’t wake, though, only shuffled a little. Enough that my wing slid free. Blood smeared the quilt and I grimaced. I had already replaced the damned bedding three times this month from stains I couldn’t steam out.
With a final glance, I crossed the hall and shifted back. Swapping to human form was a much faster and easier transformation. I could rapid-shift, but the act was incredibly draining; I used double the energy to speed the process. In a day, I could only manage a small handful of them.
I ducked into my bathroom, digging through my large stash of bandages and cleansers. After my arms were loaded, I moved for the guest room, halting only long enough to tug on a pair of thick gray leggings and an oversized cotton sweater. The Fae were always more appalled by my lack of clothing than the fact that I was a shifter.
So strange, their level of discomfort around skin.
The Fae was sprawled on his back when I returned. I scanned his body, taking stock of his wounds. His muscular torso was exposed, his lightly tanned skin scattered with the same freckles that dusted his face. Bruises blended with the tiny specks, a patchwork of purple across his flesh. The button on his pants was undone, and I didn’t recall seeing a shirt near him. Those shifters must have taken that.
What the hell were they going to do to him?
I grumbled in agitation. They always went for the tall ones too, as if their superior height made them more of a threat to shifter dominance. I snorted. More like a threat to their delicate shifter egos. Even if he had won tonight’s match, he didn’t win them often. One lucky night didn’t warrant a beating this excessive.
The long claw marks that raked his chest seemed to be the worst of his injuries, so I set to work. I cleaned them gently before I sewed stitches along the deepest wounds, resting cloth strips in yarrow and honey over his skin when I was finished. A more natural healing method than I would use on myself, but I tried to make the Fae in my care as comfortable as possible. The mix was effective enough; the swelling would be reduced, as well as the risk of infection. I would have to change the bandages though, to keep them cool.
My attention fell to his cheekbone next. I wiped away the excess blood, finally able to assess the damage. Fractured, at the very least. Another cold poultice went to the spot before I moved on. The rest of his face didn’t seem as damaged—a swollen left eye and a knot where his head had struck the blacktop—so I laid strips of cloth across them as well, wishing I could do more.
An older set of scars ran down his right cheek, clipping off on his jaw. I traced a finger across the smooth, raised marks. Their spacing was too perfect, like a shifter had dragged claws down his face. The scars were mimicked in smaller forms across his arms and torso, over and over, raised marks that marred his otherwise smooth skin. My heart clenched.
Were they from the cage fights? Another shifter encounter? His hatred for shifters was glaringly obvious, and theirs for him. Not that I could particularly blame him, especially right now.
The shifters who attacked him tonight deserved far worse than being left to wander the streets. I clenched my jaw as my nostrils flared. Every single mark on his skin was unnecessary. I was familiar with his attitude and, even still, he had never said anything to warrant this severe a response. A corner of my mind dared me to get up, go back to The Pit, and kick the living piss out of all three of them. Reporting them to Mordecai in the morning would have to suffice.
The Fae coughed, drawing my attention to the swollen spot on the right side of his torso. Almost certainly a broken rib. Not much I could do for that. He would have to stop fighting long enough for that one to heal.
His bloodied knuckles were last, a mess that I cleaned and bandaged quickly. Split knuckles were child's play
