Chapter 11 : I’m Not Proud of It

Maeve

The library was cool and shrouded in darkness as I helped Aaron onto one of the couches. He groaned as he shifted his weight, the bruises from our battle in the alleyway already evident on his skin.

He accepted my help, allowing me to peer into his mouth to check for broken teeth. His nose was likely broken, but he had set it straight himself, the crunching sound of it still ringing in my ears.

“Well, I don’t think you’re dying,” I said as I turned from him and crossed the room, rummaging in the bar cart for something strong. I pulled out a dusty bottle of scotch, the wax seal unbroken as I grabbed two glasses and walked back over to where he sat.

“I think the walk home was the worst part,” he groaned, peering at me through one eye as I sat the glasses down and used my fingernail to break the wax seal.

“Yeah, that was the longest walk of my life,” I said with a little laugh. We had fumbled our way through the city center, getting miserably lost once we left the university’s property. We missed the last train back to Old Town and found ourselves shuffling along the river-walk for almost an hour until someone was kind enough to give us a ride upriver in their boat. They took us to the outskirts of Old Town, the walk back to the castle well over five miles in the pitch black of night. I tried to persuade Aaron to shift, thinking he’d have more strength to make the journey that way, but he refused. I wouldn’t ask him to carry me on the back of his wolf when he was injured.

He knew I didn’t yet know my wolf. He wasn’t going to shift without me. It was a gallant gesture, but I knew he regretted it the second he sunk into the couch, his beaten body aching and tender.

I handed him a glass of scotch and he nodded in thanks, drinking the entire pour in one swallow.

“That’s a waste,” I scolded, pouring him another. “Sip it, don’t shoot it. This was probably here during my father’s time in the castle.” I held the amber liquid in the faint light of the moon coming through the three-story high windows, swirling the scotch in the glass before bringing it to my nose. He watched me; one brow arched.

He brought his glass to his lips, sticking his pinky out as he swallowed it all, again, his eyes not leaving mine.

“You’re impossible,” I scoffed, sitting down at the end of the couch, my arm resting on his ankles as I leaned my head back on the cushions and looked up at the elaborately painted ceiling and antique chandelier. I sipped the scotch, enjoying the warmth as it slid down my throat. “What a night, huh?”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He tried to sit up but decided against it, falling back into the cushions with his face twisted into a grimace.

“No, I’m not.” I brought my hands into my lap, running my fingers over my knuckles where the man’s teeth had met my fist. The skin had already healed, thanks to the healing powers in my blood.copy right hot novel pub