On the Prowl

of the tunic over the side of the table and moving as far away as I could get in the little room.
    “I usually heal well enough on my own,” he offered, but I ignored him. I needed something to do, and just because he healed fast didn’t mean he couldn’t get an infection.
    I found lavender and pretty yellow calendula flowers on the drying rack, along with some other stuff I didn’t recognize. The idea of having new, completely unknown herbs to experiment on was almost enough to distract me from the task at hand. The family had traded with the Fey for ingredients—I’d seen the records of payments made in the office—but I’d never been allowed to handle any of the materials myself. They went to the boys in the lab along with all the other esoteric goodies. I promised myself to do some serious gathering before I went home. Assuming I ever did.
    I needed a clean cloth and something to use to make tea. The cloth was nowhere to be found, but the bucket was metal and didn’t have any holes, so I figured it would do for a makeshift teapot. I pushed open the door and got slapped in the face by more rain. It was still pouring down, enough to quickly fill the bucket partway, but also to turn the area around the door into a muddy mess.
    I gratefully turned back to the dryer part of the shed, only to stop dead. The Fey was getting undressed. He’d already spread the cape on the floor on the far side of the table and hung the shredded tunic on a nail I’d overlooked. Now his hand dropped to the lacings of his leggings. The dark blue fabric hugged his body tightly and only came away slowly, baring first creamy buttocks, then silky thighs and finally well-muscled calves to view. He sat back on the chair, his body on careless display, before noticing me.
    “What’s wrong?” He was regarding me quizzically, his head tilted slightly to the side. In the soft glow from the fire, his hair took on the sheen of antique gold, like ancient treasure. I swallowed, fighting the urge to touch those shining strands.
    “Nothing.”
    I sat my bucket with the herbs inside over the fire and settled down on its far side—practically the only free space left. That put me next to the now steaming horse, but it beat the hell out of the alternative. I’d heard that the Fey had fewer problems with modesty than humans, but could really have done without a demonstration. I occupied myself trying to find something neutral to look at without turning my back on him completely.
    I concentrated on the fire, watching the bits of wood and ash thrown up by the flames, but my eyes kept trying to wander to the well-muscled leg and part of one strong thigh visible just beyond it. They were highlighted with minute golden strands that tantalizingly caught the light. Beads of moisture were starting to dry all over his skin, leaving it warm and rosy. I felt a little dizzy.
    “What did you put in there?” he asked, peering into the pot.
    I swallowed. “Lavender for an antiseptic and calendula to stem blood flow and reduce scarring. It isn’t optimal, but it’s the best I can do with the stuff at hand.” He nodded, but looked at the pot dubiously. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the poison thing.
    “I answered your questions; I would appreciate you answering one of mine,” he said after a pause. “Who was the mage you called Sebastian? What did he want with you?”
    I watched steam start to rise from the pot and wondered how to reply to that. Summing up my past in a few words was a challenge. I decided on the Reader’s Digest version.
    “My father decided to sell me to the Light Fey. Only a great-uncle found out about it before the deal went through and helped me escape. When Father couldn’t produce me as promised, the Fey decided he’d welshed on the deal, so…”
    “I can guess.”
    “Sebastian has been looking for me ever since. And tonight he caught up with me. The family blames me for what happened to Father.”
    “And your cousin wants revenge.”
    “Something like that.” Actually, the whole family had had a vote, and they’d preferred Seb’s bribes to my assurances. Normally, the memory was enough to bring me to angry tears, but at the moment, I seemed unable to get worked up about it. Maybe because I was already worked up about something else.
    I couldn’t seem to stop staring at Heidar’s hair. The top layer had started to dry and, unusual for the Fey, it had a slight ripple to it. The underside was still damp and