Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle 3)

That strong, steady hand returned, cupping the outside of Grey’s before pressing a cold glass into his palm. It was a little difference that he’d noticed with Cort. When his friends handed him something, they either shoved it straight into his palm and waited for him to grip, or they grabbed his wrist and placed it into his palm. But with Cort, it was like he was taking a moment to hold his hand prior to gently giving him something. It felt more personal. Warmer. Special. But that was silly. Cort had worked with countless people. Grey wasn’t special.

“Glass of water for you. I want you to sip it while I grab the first aid kit,” Cort said softly.

When Cort released his hand, Grey quickly grabbed him with his empty hand. He’d come up with Cort’s arm, but it was enough to stop him. He squeezed and managed to get out, “Thank you.”

The man was silent for a second, just a sharp inhale, and then nothing. The scent of him grew stronger for a second—soft and fresh with a hint of mint—as if he’d leaned in a little closer. The scent faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

“I hope you learn today that when it comes to your well-being, I will always out-stubborn you, Grey Ackles.”

“I’m glad someone can,” Grey murmured.

Cort chuckled and moved away, his footsteps carrying him across the living room and fading into the bathroom.

Grey closed his sore, dry eyes and listened to the sounds of Cort moving in his apartment. He shifted things in the bathroom before crossing the living room again, glass and other broken things crunching under his feet.

“Where’s your broom and dustpan?” Cort was in the kitchen, his voice sounding as if he were standing right beside Grey. Fabric scraped as Cort’s hand left the bag holding the first aid kit on the table.

“The space between the wall and the fridge.” He listened to Cort stepping across the room followed by the bang of the broom and dustpan hitting the wall as Cort pulled it from its niche. He frowned as his brain clearly conjured up images for all these sounds around him.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I can’t picture you, and it’s driving me crazy. When I’m around the others, I can easily imagine what they look like when they cross the room or get a glass of water. When Baer’s talking, I can imagine his grin. Or I can see Dane’s worried frown. But you…”

“I’m a blank,” Cort filled in. He was in the kitchen, bringing with him his wonderful scent and warmth. A chair slid across the tile floor and fabric rustled as he sat.

“Yeah, and I’m spending more of my day with you than my friends. It’s frustrating.”

“Let’s see if I can help you with that while I check out this cut on your knee. Gonna remove the bandage—”

Pain flashed across Grey’s knee and he cried out. “Fuck!”

“Sorry about that. I thought it would be better if I did it fast rather than slow.”

“Leg hair,” Grey whined. He’d thrown on basketball shorts that morning when he finally crawled out of bed, knowing he’d have to deal with the cut again.

“Yeah, not anymore. But then it looks like you were due for a wax.”

“Fuck you,” Grey said, but it lacked all of the heat that had been behind those two words earlier.

“But you were asking for a description of me. Let’s see,” Cort said. He was trying to distract Grey, and he welcomed it. He wanted to think of something else for just a little while. “I’m a couple of inches taller than you.”

“But shorter than Lucien, right?”

“Yep. Probably right between you both. You have a good image of him in your head?”

Grey tilted his head to the left and then right, his mouth twisting a little. “Pretty good. I haven’t known him as long as the others. Maybe only a few weeks, but yeah, I can see him.”

“Really?” Surprise lifted Cort’s voice higher. “I would never have guessed that. When I’ve seen him with you and the others, he seems so relaxed, like he’s been around much longer.”

Grey shook his head. It was better to leave it at that. Trying to explain why Lucien only recently joined them and why he was living at the house in the first place was a can of worms Grey didn’t have the energy to open. “So…taller than me and shorter than Lucien.”

“I think Lucien’s muscle mass is bigger than mine as well, so he’s wider.” Something cool ran over the wound, and Grey hissed. It didn’t hurt. Just…cold. There was a soft fizzing noise that went with it. Peroxide. He was cleaning the wound. “Umm…so, I’m also Black.”

There was a long, heavy silence as if Cort were waiting for a negative reaction.

“Yeah, Lucien might have mentioned that last night. It’s not an issue for me; did you think it would be?”