I make Tristan sit on the airstairs, and I remove his shirt, careful not to hurt him. When I see his arms, every muscle in my body relaxes a notch. His scratches are not as deep as I thought, though they run along both his arms, and certainly need cleaning and disinfecting. I run inside the plane and rip a strip of fabric from my wedding dress, then grab the first aid kit. My diamond rings slips off my finger, falling with a hollow sound on the floor next to my suitcase. In my haste to get back to Tristan, I don't even think of stopping to retrieve it.
Outside, I dip the fabric in water, then run it along his arms, cleaning the long scratches. Though the scratches aren’t deep, blood trickles from a few of them. I start shaking, the sight of blood mingling with the white of the fabric too much for me to bear. No matter how much I grit my teeth and bite my lips, I can't stop fresh tears from rolling down my cheeks.
"Aimee," Tristan says tenderly, tilting my chin to meet his gaze, "it doesn't hurt that bad, I promise."
"I don't…" I take a deep breath. I need to pull myself together. But my voice is undependable when I continue. "I was so afraid something would happen to you."
I realize I can't talk about this. At least not right now. The terror is still too fresh, the fear of losing him still has an iron grip on me.
He takes my bloody fingers in his palms, cleaning them with water, just as I did with his arms. Then he bends forward, kissing my hands, in a gesture so tender, so pure, that I'd like nothing better than to steal this moment and encase it in a glass bubble, a haven safe from the forest. Safe from the world and its judgement. Safe from my own judgement. Tristan stays like this for a few seconds, then pulls me in a tight hug, his forehead buried in my hair, his lips touching my neck. "I've never been more afraid of anything than I was of losing you today, Aimee." His voice trembles, yet the words tumble out fast, as if he's afraid I will stop him. "All I could think of was you'd be taken away from me before I got to tell you how much you mean to me."
"I know," I whisper, pulling him up, resting my forehead against his. "I know. I—” I stop when I notice blood trickling again from the scratches on his arms. "I have to bandage your arms. On second thought, take a shower and wash all the mud away. I'll bandage your arms afterward."
Tristan doesn't question me, but his eyes probe me with worry, which is ridiculous, because I am fine.
I stay just outside the shower while he's inside, unable to bring myself to move from this spot, shaken by the irrational fear that something may happen to him if I stray too far, that something will take him away from me. He walks out wearing the fresh pair of pants I put there for him earlier. He didn’t put on the shirt I also put there. He looks as strong as ever, as long as I keep my eyes away from his arms and on his steel chest and broad shoulders. But then blood trickles from one of his scratches again, and all my fears are back. I take the bandages, rubbing alcohol, and what's left of the antibiotic cream out of the first aid kit when we return to the airstairs.
"No, don't use the antibiotic cream," Tristan says.
"Why? The scratches can become infected."
"We shouldn't waste it."
"Waste it? Tristan, your arms need it."
"Maybe we'll need it more later. We could get attacked again, and if you get hurt…" He drops his eyes to his hands, his tone apologetic.
Always thinking of me first. Always.
"Let me be the one who worries about you for once, okay?" I say. "Just let me apply it. Please. You need it."
I sense that he'd like to argue further, but I shake my head and he gives in, allowing me to take care of him. After I'm done bandaging his arms I tell him, "Go inside the plane and rest. It's almost dark anyway. I'll take a shower and then come inside."
"No, I'll wait for you here," he says. "Just in case. I want to keep an eye out."
I nod, understanding his apprehension. I felt the same before.
Showering usually calms me, and I never hurry the process, but now I can't wait to get out. Being separated from Tristan, even if he's just a few feet away, causes me to shudder with fear that something might happen to him.
When I get out, Tristan takes my hand, leading me inside the plane. The warmth of his palm spreads through me, making my nerve endings tingle. I allow myself to give in to the sense of security he brings to everything
I don't pull my hand away. I don't ever want to pull it away.
When we enter the plane, Tristan hovers in front of the door to the cockpit.
&
nbsp; "Sleep next to me tonight, Tristan."
Turning toward me he asks, "Are you sure?"
"Yes." I run my hand from one shoulder blade to the other, and I feel goose bumps forming on his skin. "Tonight. Every night."
I don't know if he was expecting us to sleep separately, but I wedge myself next to him. After what happened today, nothing feels close enough. I cocoon myself against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I feel fine. Relax, Aimee."
I can't. The jaguar’s growl still rings in my ears. It brings back the paralyzing fear of losing Tristan. I inch closer to him, the warmth of his naked torso doing wonders for my stiff posture. He presses his fingers on the back of my neck, and I moan as some of the tension built up inside releases. Tristan's fingers freeze on my neck.
"Aimee…"