My Fated Mate Can Have Her-Chapter 224: A Gentle Touch

Violet

It scrambled up the nearest tree with surprising speed, disappearing into the glowing branches above.

I was about to let it go and just head to bed when I heard a soft purring sound coming from the sif. It was a strange low melody that swept through the soft weeping of the leaves. It was lovely, but there a distressed note to it after a while.

I decided to climb the tree.

The bark was smooth and strange beneath my hands, a texture I wasn’t used to, but I managed to pull myself up until I found it, along with some other company.

The sif I had been holden had gotten stuck, wedged into a gap where three hard branches met. Two other sifs were already there, tugging at it and trying to pull it free.

I reached out with my syzygy.

The energy flowed from me, wrapping around the trapped creature, and I pulled gently. It popped free with a soft sound, and it chirped at me, stunned.

"You’re welcome." I smiled at it, hoping it wasn’t scared at having to float in the air as I crawled back down.

The bark was a bit slippery. My foot skidded against a smooth patch, and I slid several feet before catching myself.

By the time I reached the ground, my heart was pounding from the repeated near-falls.

I cradled the sif to my chest and smelled the blood before I saw it.

My loose trousers were torn at the inner thigh, the fabric dark and wet. Beneath it, my skin was split open. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was a long tear that caused blood to well up and trail down my leg.

I stared at it, stunned.

I hadn’t felt any pain until this very moment when I realised I was hurt.

A faint sound caused me to turn around. Rowan was sitting upright, wide awake, and there was a sudden alertness in his eyes again.

His eyes snapped to my wound and for a split second, I thought he was going to stand up.

"There’s no danger," I said quickly, taking a step back. "I just injured myself getting down from the tree. It’s nothing"

He let out a deep sigh but his eyes still remained fixed on me.

I turned away immediately and rushed toward the river to rinse the wound. In my haste, I realized too late that I had forgotten to grab a fresh pair of pants from my bag. I rinsed the cut as best I could, watching the blood swirl away in the water, then pulled the torn, stained pants back on.

The wound slightly itched.

I frowned, resisting the urge to scratch, but it was persistent even though it itched faintly.

I sat down on my fabric and tried to focus. Extended my syzygy inward, searching for what might be wrong, attempting to encourage faster healing—

"The bark."

I flinched so hard I nearly bit my tongue.

Rowan was watching me, an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I didn’t mean to startle you."

"It’s okay..." I whispered, eyeing my wound.

"The bark of these trees can cause some itching if it breaks your skin. It’s uncomfortable for a while, especially from the tree irritating the open wound."

I looked down at my thigh where it was torn. The wound had stopped bleeding and was already healing, but it still itched.

"Is there a way to stop it?" I let go of the sif in my grip and it pranced away just as I was about to scratch the skin surrounding the wound.

"Wait. Let me see it?"

I hesitated, then shifted the torn fabric aside just enough for him to see the wound.

He studied it for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"Saliva would soothe the itching," he said simply.

My ears grew numb. I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

"That’s..." I mumbled. "Strange."

"It is," he agreed quietly. There was no defensiveness in his tone, just a faint acknowledgement of what he had said.

The itching pulsed again, more insistent now, and I resisted the urge to claw at my own skin.

"It really works," he added. "My saliva can help break down the irritant. It would be uncomfortable otherwise."

I looked at the wound again. It had closed up and the red scaring was starting to heal, but it still itched and I glanced at my hands already twitching with the desperate need to scratch.

Something unsettled crept through me. It was a nervousness that had nothing to do with the injury and everything to do with what he was suggesting.

But the itching was frustrating.

"What will you do exactly?" I asked.

He rose slowly and moved toward me. I found myself backing up instinctively until my spine met the bark of the tree behind me.

He knelt in front of me.

My heart was already beating too fast. The pink glow of the grove cast soft light across his features, and his green eyes were focused, intent.

I expected him to wet his fingers and apply the saliva with his hand.

Instead, he reached for my leg.

His hand curled around my calf, lifting it gently, and before I could process what was happening, he lowered his head toward my inner thigh.

A small shrill sound escaped me.

My hands flew to his hair, fingers digging in to hold him back and prevent him from going any further.

My heart was thrashing against my ribs so violently I could hear it in my ears.

"What—" My voice came out high and strangled. "What are you doing?"

He paused, his breath warm against my skin. His mouth was mere inches from the wound.

"It won’t take long," he said quietly.

His eyes trailed up to meet mine and a chilling realization settled over me.

That position.

He was going to lick it, was he?

No... He was going to put his mouth on my inner thigh and lick the wound and I was supposed to just...

"Rowan, wait—"

His head dipped forward.

Despite the force I was using to hold him back, he moved with a strength that made my grip feel like nothing.

His tongue touched my skin.

A hot, wet drag along the edge of the wound.

My eyes widened and my mouth fell open in a silent scream as the familiar sensation pooled low in my abdomen.