Tasteful Darkness

Chapter 9

Balendin - Now

Though I'm not entirely sure how it happens, I find myself in front of Peter's flat. We made it this entire way, our bodies pressed against each other as I half-carried and half-dragged him along the streets. My arm is still around him as he fishes around for his key.

The pain is weighing on him, I can tell. His movements have slowed, and his face is a constant grimace.

My human form is already healing, and I can only pray to the Night that he won't try to look at my long gone injuries.

Peter's hand emerges from his pocket with the key and before he can move anymore, I take it from him and unlock the door. He opens his mouth—probably to thank me—but I cut him off and begin helping him inside. Peter practically collapses on the sofa a few steps inside, but he must have done it too hard because he immediately winces.

"Ointments," he grits out, blindly gesturing behind me. "In the cupboard."

It takes me a moment to register what he is pointing at, but I quickly go to the cupboard once I spot it. I have no desire to stay here any longer—this is not the form he is supposed to know.

I pull open the cupboard and quickly look over the dozens of bottles that hide inside. My gaze locks onto a label with the word "burn" neatly written on it. I grab the dark green bottle and a roll of bandages before returning to Peter.

"Here," I tell him, placing the medicine in his hands.

"Thank you," he says.

He struggles to sit up and uncork the bottle, which he places on the table beside the sofa. I see the pain in his eyes as he goes to take off his ruined coat. He pauses after every movement, his face crumpling like a piece of paper.

"Do you need—"

"Yes," he blurts out.

I swallow any annoyance and sit down beside him on the sofa after pocketing the bandages. Peter awkwardly faces away from me, and for a moment, I don't know what he wants me to do. I carefully reach forward past his neck and grab at the collar of his coat. With his help, we slowly inch the coat from his body. Peter's breath hitches at every movement, and I keep my face blank, my thoughts desperate to be elsewhere.

The coat comes off into my hands. I immediately stand, placing the coat on the nearby table.

Peter glances up at me, perhaps noting my quick escape. I keep my eyes forward, out the window, and at the trees swaying outside.

"Why would you throw yourself into the fire like that?" Peter suddenly asks.

I swallow. "I didn't throw myself into the fire."

"I could have been dead for all you know, and you would have risked your life for nothing."

There was hardly any risk involved. And it would have gone a lot smoother if that blasted Guard had come to me when they were called.

I turn, looking down at Peter. "Yet here you are. Alive and... mostly well."

Peter rolls his eyes and reaches for the ointment. He pauses, winces, then grabs it. I watch in silence as he empties practically half the bottle's contents into his hands and begins slathering the orange salve across the burns on his arms. They aren't fatal—I have seen much worse. If he had been in the building for mere moments longer, I doubt he would be here.

"Those ointments," I start. "I have never seen them before. They almost seem..."

"Homemade? They are."