“I said no! Forget it. That’s final.” Hæra stood up and nearly lost her footing. Jonathan caught her slippery arms and almost fell down himself.

“Oh hell.” He sounded very tired. “You’ve got to lie down before you do aught else. She’ll come back.”

It was a titanic effort to lift one foot out of the tub onto the mat, never mind the second one. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know.” He left her sitting on the toilet and returned with plasters, ointment, and bandages. “Your bleeding’s already slowing down.”

“I heal faster than you.” The blood of her kind congealed quickly; a survival mechanism to keep predators from scenting it in the water.

“Good job nobody else saw. We’ve been lucky, lass.” Jonathan patted the wound on her back dry with a towel while she held back a hiss of pain. “We didn’t do too badly, did we? All told?”

Gently, he wrapped her wrist and dressed her other wounds as best he could. When he was done, Hæra knew she was unable to chase after Madeleine or anybody else. She could only make her way to the bed. Jonathan was right: her blood no longer soaked freshly into the bandages and plasters, but she was more exhausted than she’d been since the last time Asgall had attacked her along with her mother. What would Beathag say about all this?

Beathag wouldn’t say anything. She’d just deliver the killing blow.

Jonathan pulled back the duvet, the top of which was muddy and bloody from when she’d lain on it a few minutes ago. The sheets beneath were clean. She was still naked. Her clothes and boots lay somewhere outside in the mud, shredded to bits from when she’d transformed.

Her eyelids sagged as she lay down.

No. She mustn’t sleep. She had to put her body into a state of metabolic rest; she would not sleep. She just had to rest a little, only a little while, so she’d be strong enough to find…

“Madeleine,” she groaned.

Jonathan covered her with the duvet. “Hush now. I’ll tell one of the lads to look for her. She ran east.”

It seemed vitally important that Jonathan understand something. Hæra’s eyelids sagged even as she said, “I love her.”

“Yes. You said.” Jonathan sat down on the edge of the bed. Then he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll be all right,” he said.

How? she wanted to ask him, but it was too late. Her eyes closed. She was going to sleep. The last thing she knew was the warm weight of Jonathan’s hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Madeleine was covered in mud.