“She’s fine,” Koen orders, returning to the room with something in his hand. “Stop fussing.” It’s an odd thing to say, considering that it’s followed by him kneeling in front of me and taking the heel of one of my feet in his palm. He runs a damp washcloth all over the little abrasions the forest floor left on my skin, the ones that are already starting to heal. The warmth feels so indecently good, I swallow a moan. “You’re fine. Aren’t you, killer?” he asks, holding my eyes. I nod, a little breathless. “You need a bed and some rest,” Saul continues, undeterred. “And a hot meal,” Amanda adds.
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