That did not explain the terrible longing that spread from her fingers like a fever.

“At least let me clean it then,” I said, because anything was better than the lingering echo of tenderness in the way she’d said my name.

She stared at me for the space of several heartbeats, then nodded. “The water will loosen the worst of it,” she said as she dropped the towel and stepped gingerly into the pool. I shut my eyes, still half-blind from the light, but the sight of her body seared the back of my lids like flame.

She hissed as the water hit the wounds. I knelt beside the pool and put my hand on her uninjured shoulder before I could stop myself. The dark water washed away the blood from the cuts, revealing several layers of muscle and a flash of white that I hoped was not bone. The skin around it puckered angrily, severed as smoothly as if the bear had wielded a knife instead of claws. I had never seen a wound like that on a living person. It hurt to look at. Her muscles knotted beneath my palm, and I saw a muscle leap in her jaw as she clenched her teeth against the pain.

“How can you bear it?” I asked in a hushed voice.

She sank deeper into the water, leaning her head against the stone floor. It was disconcerting to find myself looking down on her. Her eyes were half-closed, the lids bruised with an exhaustion that looked decidedly human, and the dark water covered her chest and pooled in the hollows along her collarbone. One of the gashes curved over her shoulder. I found myself wondering if it would scar, or if she healed with the same flawless ease as her roses.

“Pain is not so hard to bear,” she said, looking up at me. “Just takes a little practice.”

I laid the back of my fingers against the skin below her wound, checking once again for heat. “Have you had a lot of practice?”

“You could say that.” Her lips curved in a smile that turned into a grimace as my finger brushed the edge of the gash.

“I’m sorry.” I pulled my hand away.

“Don’t be.”

She closed her eyes, and I sat with my hands pressed tightly together, willing myself not to touch her or to stroke the damp hair back from her forehead. “Was it a large bear?” I asked to break the silence.

“Large enough.”

“I thought bears hibernated.” Except hers, of course.

“They do. This one was sick. Something drove it out of its season, and I did not want it killing my Hounds. Even a sick bear can kill a wolf.” Her voice tightened on the last words.

“Or a hunter.”

“I was careless. It happens occasionally.”