My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 103

Sera

"Let's get out of here,"

The heavy kitchen doors swung open before we could take two steps.

The remaining noise in the room completely evaporated. The crackling fires were the only sound left.

Fenris walked in.

He wore the same grey shirt from last night. His dark hair was messy, his jaw set in a hard, unforgiving line. He didn't scan the room. He didn't acknowledge the cooks backing away from the tables. He walked with heavy, purposeful strides directly toward me.

Mina took a quick step backward, giving him space.

Fenris stopped in front of me. He looked down at my hand holding the cheese. The knuckles were rapidly turning a deep, angry shade of plum. The skin over the middle joint was split wide open, the blood drying into a dark crust.

He looked like a tired warlord dealing with a mess.

"Put the food down," Fenris said. His voice was a low, rough gravel.

I set the cheese back in the wooden bowl.

He reached out, wrapped his large fingers gently around my uninjured wrist, and turned around. "Walk with me."

He led me out of the kitchen, back into the freezing corridor. He didn't take me toward the Great Hall or the upper levels. He pulled me down a narrow side passage I hadn't noticed before and pushed open a solid wooden door.

It was a small, quiet washroom used by the servants. It smelled faintly of lye and dried lavender. A large stone basin sat in the corner under a small, frosted window.

Fenris shut the door behind us. The iron latch dropped with a heavy click.

He let go of my wrist, walked over to the basin, and grabbed a clean linen cloth from a stack on a wooden shelf. He turned a small iron valve, letting icy mountain water run over the cloth until it was completely soaked.

He turned the water off and walked back to me. "Hold your hand out."

I raised my right hand.

Fenris wrapped his warm fingers around the base of my palm, supporting it. He pressed the freezing, wet linen directly against my split knuckles.

I hissed. My teeth clenched together as the icy water stung the torn flesh. I tried to pull my hand back instinctively, but his grip was solid. He didn't let me move.

"Hold still," Fenris ordered quietly.

He wiped away Torin's dried blood, his touch surprisingly careful given the sheer size of his hands and the rough callouses on his skin.

"Torin is currently screaming in the healing ward," Fenris stated, his eyes focused entirely on the red stain spreading across the wet linen. "He is bleeding all over their clean sheets. He is demanding that Captain Elias send a raven to Valdris, claiming you attacked him in the hall without a single word of provocation."

Fenris looked back down at my hand. He assessed the swelling, his thumb gently probing the bone underneath the bruised flesh. I winced as he pressed down.

"You broke his nose," Fenris said.

"I think I shattered it," I admitted, my voice dropping to a whisper.

A long beat of silence passed between us. The faint sound of water dripping from the iron valve into the basin echoed off the stone walls.

"Next time you hit a man," Fenris instructed, his tone completely practical, "make sure your thumb is tucked on the outside of your fingers, not resting across the top joint. You nearly dislocated your own knuckle."

He took the wet linen and wrapped it tightly around my hand, tying the ends off in a neat knot to keep the cold pressure directly on the swelling.

"Go back to your room," Fenris told me. He let go of my hand and took a step back. "Lock the door. The elders are bringing the final marriage contracts to my den tonight. Get some sleep before the feast."

I looked down at the makeshift bandage on my hand. My fingers were starting to throb with the cold. "What are you going to do about Torin?"

Fenris picked up the bloody half of the linen cloth he had torn off from the basin. He squeezed the icy, red-tinted water out of it.

"I am going to have a very quiet conversation with the Valdris envoy," Fenris said. He looked at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "He will not speak to you again."

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