Healing Ties (Ties, Book 2) | ✓

Chapter 9

Yore had expected that when he caught up with the mage he would find he was a different person, that now that he had made a move against Yore his mask would have fallen and his true self would be revealed.

Mostly the mage just seemed sad and resigned and extremely submissive. Was that an act that he'd thrown back on now that he had been caught, or was that how he truly was and the attack an act of desperation?

Either way, Yore wasn't about to let his guard down and start underestimating him again. With any luck, he would find Lucas and they could clear this whole situation up by the end of tomorrow.

Making it back to the bag was far less of a struggle than Yore had anticipated. The mage seemed steadier on his feet now, but Yore didn't think it was because he'd been faking before. He couldn't possibly be that good of an actor. Besides, the cut on his side had more than justified it.

"I'm going to start a fire," Yore told him. "Give me your clothes so that I can lay them out to dry, change your bandages, and then get into your bedroll before you get too cold."

Though, speaking of getting cold, the mage seemed to be doing fine considering he was soaking wet and the temperature was dropping with the sun. He wasn't shivering. He was hunching in on himself and hugging himself a lot, but Yore was fairly sure that was for other reasons.

The mage stripped out of his cloak and then hesitated as he held it in his arms. He took an uncertain step towards Yore and then changed his mind and placed it down on the tree stump. Yore gave him a nod of approval.

The mage finished piling his clothes on the stump and then stood, naked, and started unwrapping the bandages.

He was a handsome young man. Werewolves were all so large and solidly built. Not even their women or children possessed a build as lithe or features as pretty as this mage. The mage noticed Yore watching him, pressed his lips down against a smile, and turned so that Yore could see the rest of him.

Yore looked away. Werewolves weren't at all self conscious about nudity and in Yore's experience neither were Companions, but Yore had been looking. He didn't want to be disrespectful or create any confusion about his expectations.

When the mage had finished taking the bandage off Yore did look again, though. The cut was... not there. In its place was fresh, pink scar tissue. It hadn't been anywhere near that far towards healing when Yore had checked it that morning.

"You took energy from me, didn't you?" Yore asked. "That's how you knocked me unconscious."

The mage kept his head down. He stroked his fingers over the scar tissue on his side and didn't respond.

"Should I be concerned about that? I feel tired but otherwise fine."

The mage looked up and met Yore's eyes. "I wouldn't hurt you," he insisted, voice shaking as he spoke.

"Why not? You seem to have decided I'm the enemy, and that's not unreasonable. I haven't done anything to prove otherwise."

"I don't want to hurt anyone," the slave whispered.

"Neither do I, but that doesn't mean I won't if it means saving myself or someone I care about."

"No, I don't want to," the mage said, voice wavering. "I don't think you're the enemy anymore, anyway. Or at least... I don't know."

"Hopefully we can get this all sorted out by tomorrow, but until then things might be a little rougher. I'm going to have to start treating you with more respect."

"Respect?"

"Respect in the sense that you treat a—" Yore racked his brain for a dangerous creature the mage might actually be familiar with. "A bull? They can be aggressive towards unfamiliar people who go into their fields, right?"

Yore didn't know much about livestock so he genuinely wasn't sure, but the mage nodded.

"Right. So it's respectful to acknowledge that danger and give the bull space. Going up and trying to pet it would be disrespecting the animal. Likewise, I'm not keeping my distance from you to be mean or because I'm angry. I'm respecting you as someone who is capable of defending himself and who might see me as someone he needs to defend himself from."

The mage was hugging himself. He looked like he might cry. "I'm sorry."

"Like I said, I'm not angry."

"I don't want to be dangerous."

"Get in your bedroll before you get cold."

The mage looked down at the scar tissue on his side which clearly no longer needed to be bandaged, hesitated, then quickly reached for his bedroll. "Yes, I— sorry."

"It's fine," Yore said as the mage climbed into his bedroll and snuggled down. "I just can't cuddle with you tonight, so I don't want you getting cold."

"Sometimes—" the mage started to say and then abruptly fell silent.

"Mm?" Yore prompted.

"I just, um— sometimes I get distracted and forget what I was supposed to be doing. I don't mean to not follow instructions— I mean, I did earlier, when I ran away, I'm not pretending that was an accident, but— but sometimes when I'm supposed to be doing something, even when it's really simple, I just— I don't mean to, but I lose focus and I get distracted."

Yore poked a stick into the fire. "You're here, and you're with me, but you're not my slave, right? You obey me because you're scared of me, or maybe because you think I can help you, but not because you're under any obligation to."

"I— I suppose so."

"Right, so I'm not going to hold you up to any sort of standards of perfection. You're not my property, we're just working together to resolve this situation."

"I don't think I know how to be anything else."

"I figured, which was why I was giving you instructions to follow in the first place. You didn't seem to be very confident in figuring out what to do on your own."

"Do you want me to be, sir?"

"With any luck we can get this sorted tomorrow and then we'll be able to talk about things properly. For now, try not to worry about it too much."

The mage hugged the bedroll around himself and nodded. "Yes, sir."