Into the Night {In Edits}

Chapter Fourteen

Tristan’s idea of taking care of me was to bring me to a Fae surgeon. I wasn’t complaining about that part. No, I was all good with going to see this male Fae and not a human surgeon who would ask questions I couldn’t give answers to without fear of persecution or commitment. The part I wasn’t so keen on was the lack of anesthetic.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have any, he just didn’t have any he could be sure wouldn’t knock me out or numb me forever. Humans being the fragile creatures that we are and all. So that meant I spent the next fifty-eight minutes of poking, prodding, stitching and dousing in absolute agony. Which, of course, meant a fit of giggles from Tristan every time I squirmed, squealed or cursed while in his death grip. The grip being necessary on account of my inability to sit still and take the pain.

When all was said and done I was sitting shirtless and boneless against Tristan in abrupt relief, arms limp at my sides and the non-damaged side of my face smushed against his chest. I did feel a lot better, the blue-ish salve the Fae doc used as an antiseptic also serving as an analgesic. At least it was for me and me “fragile human self”. I didn’t mention it to the Fae doc, content in being numb at elbow and forehead even if it was for life.

And since I was feeling so much better I took it upon myself to give Tristan what he was owed. So I pulled myself upright, looked him straight in the eye, and socked him across the face.

Miffed as he was, I’m sure it hurt me more than him.

“Hey, what was that for?” he shouted and rubbed his chin as I shook out my own throbbing knuckles.

“For laughing at my pain,” I grumbled in his general direction.

He laughed, proving his anger was more out of shock than any injury, “That’s not what I was laughing at.”

“Then what was it?”

“Well let’s see, maybe because on our very first meeting I watched that cute little butt of yours kick some pretty decent ass, which was the entrée to the mouthing-off-to-a-harpy appetizer.”

“And?” I asked as I located my shirt and struggled it over my head. That Tristan offered no help with, content with the view as it was I assumed.

“And that night ended at Sonic for some milkshakes and cheese fries. Tonight you whined constantly through some very basic first aid.”

I pointed to my now clothed elbow, to the very obvious blood stain indicating the wound in question, “Um, excuse me? Six stiches isn’t minor.”

“Compared to the potential mutilation at a Harpy’s claws it is, and that you faced with the same apathy one does their calculus homework.”

“Ugh, no, calculus was worse.” Way worse. I wouldn’t have passed that class without the help of my Shadows acting like a second memory bank. I think I made it about a quarter of the way through first semester before I officially decided I was in over my head. I had tried to transfer out of it, but damn private schools and their set paths… And wouldn’t you know it; I just spent one more day of my life neither using that or algebra…or for that matter chemistry, honors biology, trigonometry, ancient history or Shakespearian Lit.

“Try taking it five damn times,” Tristan grumbled, “You’d think I’d be a certified math genius by now, but nope. That shit they teach the children of this world is ridiculous, like it’s actually useful anywhere but in the schools.”

I opened my mouth but paused, noticing for the second time tonight that Tristan seemed to pick the same bits out of my head. I knew he couldn’t actually read my mind, my Shadows muddled any attempt to get inside my head, and they themselves were taking the opportunity to rest. They wouldn’t be doing that if they felt any threat to me, either physical or mental. It would seem it was just a matter of great minds thinking alike, common ground with a frigen half bred mountain troll. Yeah, those were about the odds of my life…