Chapter 3

Wood Fires and Saddle Leather

The next 24 hours were spent in a haze of sleeping, eating, and drinking as much water and peppermint tea as her stomach to handle. With no broken bones to worry about, all she could think about was a bath. Her back was sore from lying on the various wounds she'd received, half of which she couldn't tell apart. Her bruises were still in various stages of healing. She smelled like crap, itched like crazy, and even the comforting smell of Baldwin's coat couldn't alleviate it. But, worst of all, she really needed to pee.

She tossed the sheets aside, shivering slightly as the cooler air hit her sensitive skin, and gritted her teeth as she swung her legs out of the bed, placing her feet flat on the floorboards. She rotated her ankles around, testing the movement, then attempted to stand. It was largely successful, but she wobbled as she tried to take a few steps, flinging her arms out to grab the bedpost. The last thing she wanted was to be found sprawled across the cold floor. She'd had enough of being rescued, as much as she'd appreciated it.

Finding her feet again, she moved slowly and methodically to the door off to the right, hoping it lead to a bathroom. She let out a sigh of relief when she opened the door, tottering over to the toilet and making a pig's ear of pulling her knickers down whilst holding on to the sink, sighing as she relieved her bladder. Step one complete.

Step two, run the bath without falling into the tub and scalding herself, and remove her tattered vest without toppling onto the floor. The tub was easier to run once she'd gotten the plug in the hole. The vest, not so much. She was still struggling with the grip of her left hand, and every time she tried to pull it over her head, the edge slipped out of her fingers.

"For fuck sake!" she exclaimed.

Baldwin heard the expletive as he came through the bedroom door. He'd been given a tray by Marthe, despite his protestations, and was surprised to see the bed empty. Before she had a chance to swear again, he'd already tracked her scent to the bathroom. He set the tray down and went to investigate, just as Athena did exactly what she was afraid of. She toppled like a domino, with her vest halfway around her head.

Baldwin caught her easily enough, pulling the top away from her head. He stood her upright, his eyes examining her body, rather surprised by just how battered she was. Her back was laced with thin, angry stripes in various stages of healing, much like the rest of her. Whip marks. He recognised them.

"How many times did they whip you?" he asked, turning her to look at her face.

She met his eyes, holding on to his arm for support, "I lost count. The ankles hurt more."

Baldwin inclined his head, then looked at the running water.

"You don't think such exertion is a little soon? It's barely been 48 hours."

She glared at him, fierce defiance dancing wildly in her eyes, "I fucking stink! I might not be a vampire, but even I can smell me!"

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his lips. He was sure she'd smelled better. He also knew he'd smelled much worse over the centuries before modern hygiene practices and fresh water plumbing.

"Well, be that as it may, I doubt Marthe would be too impressed if I left you to crack your skull open."

He held her arms as she moved to place on foot in the bath, followed by the other, helping her to sit down before leaving her to wash. Propriety had gone right out of the window, but she was grateful to be able to relax in the warmth of fresh water alone, rotating her ankles again, hoping the heat would loosen them.

She reached for the soap and cursed again as her left hand lost its grip. She hated not being able to control her own limbs, and the multitude of swear words that left her lips as she rummaged around the bottom of the tub for the slippery item, had Baldwin chuckling from the bedroom. Athena ignored it and finally gripped the soap with he nails, not caring about the state it would be in when she finished. She lifted it to her nose and smelled it, wondering if it smelled of sandalwood. It didn't. French Lavender. The sandalwood had been him, along with something smoky that reminded her of bonfire night, and faint touch of polished leather. She was suddenly craving treacle toffee, and had to shake her head to focus on scrubbing the stink from her skin.

As she scrubbed herself raw, Baldwin busied himself with stripping the bed of the now dirty sheets, reaching for his coat that was partially crumpled under where her back had been resting. Picking it up, he could smell both the dirt and her permeating the fabric. It would need dry-cleaning. He didn't need the distraction of her scent on it, and the dirt would soon fester. He hung it up on the back of the door and went to ask Marthe for clean bedding.

Athena washed her hair twice, grimacing at the grime that had now stained the rim of the tub. But, she was clean finally, and feeling as though some weight had been lifted from her from the trauma. Now came step three; getting out of the tub. She didn't want to ask Baldwin again, so she pulled herself to sit on the rim, manoeuvring one leg out onto the bathroom floor, followed by the other. She leant forward to grip the sink and pulled herself upright, looking for a towel. She sighed in gratitude at the crisp, white towel hanging on the radiator, and tested the strength of her ankles again to retrieve it, wrapping it tightly around herself. She had no clothing, and refused to put on her dirty knickers, so sleeping in the towel would have to do.

She ran her fingers through her wet blonde hair, then looked around for something to brush her teeth with. There was toothpaste, but no brush. She resorted to using her finger, which was far messier than she'd intended it to be, managing to smear it across her chin. She wiped herself clean on the edge of her towel, and went back out into the bedroom, frowning as Baldwin was making her bed.

Before she could ask him why, he'd turned to see her standing in nothing but the towel. She had a hand on the top of the towel near her breast and the other braced against the wall. Now that she'd had the grime removed from her skin, he could smell that he'd been wrong. Not blackberries, but black cherries. That deep summer sweetness that had been soured by trauma. He swallowed thickly, suddenly thirsty for wine. At least, that was what he told himself.

"You should get back in bed. It's clean now," he said, moving to help her.

"You didn't have to do that," she replied, waving at the bed.

"I know. I needed my coat back," he lied. It tasted bitter, but he smiled ruefully anyway.

He let her take his arm, watching each step she took back to the bed. He found it remarkable that she was even on her feet. The resiliency of warmbloods could always surprise him, even though he worked around them daily. Mostly, they annoyed him. Not for their frailty, but for their lack of grace. The way they stumbled through life, making endless mistakes over and over. He found it curious when he came across one who had the strength to rival a vampire. He was curious about Athena.

She slipped back into bed, keeping the towel around herself as he propped pillows behind her so he could lay the tray on her lap. The swelling in her cheek was still there, but the bruising was going through the usual colour changes as it healed. She was fortunate not to have a broken cheek bone, and he noted how her eyes had flashed at his earlier lie. That same defiance. He was starting to understand why the witches hadn't been able to do more than break bone.

Just as he was about to leave her to eat, she asked him a question he didn't think he could answer.

"Where is my sister?"

Baldwin looked back at her, gold momentarily flashing in his amber eyes. "I'm not sure. We can have her body retrieved. For you and your mother."

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Had he been human, he would have missed it. Curious. A mother who hadn't asked after her, and a daughter who hadn't asked for her mother. Her turned and left, taking the dirty sheets downstairs and handing them off to Marthe.

"Has she eaten?" the older woman asked.

"I've given her some broth and toast. She was trying to take a bath."

"She could have cracked her head open!" Marthe exclaimed, moving to go check on her.

Baldwin grabbed her arm. "She's fine. She's clean and back in bed. I might be a lot of things to you, Marthe, but I'm not about to help rescue a woman, to then later kill her."

Diana wandered in, her phone in her hand. She looked mildly distressed. "I called her mother. Told her what we found." She frowned and looked at Baldwin. "She asked me how her daughter died... I tried to tell her Athena was here, and she was recovering, but she just kept asking about the dead one... Do you think it's shock?"

Baldwin was starting to have suspicions about Athena's relationship with her mother, but he'd rather save judgements for when Athena herself told them. If she ever did. As it was, the faint scent of her skin was lingering on his arm, distracting him. He left without a word, deciding a hunt would do him good. Cold blood wouldn't do right now. He needed to get his mouth around something living. He might not have Matthew's blood rage, but he still felt the same cravings all vampires did when they were due a feeding. He only wished he could hunt a carnivore here. A mountain lion would settle his palette, and stop him thinking about the unusual witch sleeping in his dead sister's room.