Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

“Meanwhile, Wren, maybe I can look at your leg.'

'No need,' I say, but he ignores me, rolling up the bottoms of my pants. There's blood, but it's truly not so bad. That doesn't stop him from asking for bandages and hot water.

Since I left the mortal world, no one cared for my wounds but me. The gentleness of his touch makes me feel too much, and I have to turn my face, lest he see.
...
Oak kneels by my feet. He had dipped one of the bandages in water and uses it to wipe off the blood and clean the cut. His fingers are warm as he wraps, and I try to concentrate on anything but the feel of his hands on my skin.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“Tamlin slumped against the edge of the table, gripping his injured hand at the wrist as he watched me sort through the supplies in the cabinets and drawers. When I'd gathered what I'd needed, I tried not to balk at the thought of touching him, but... I didn't let myself give in to my dread as I took his hand, the heat of his skin like an inferno against my cool fingers.

I cleaned off his bloody, dirty hand, bracing for the first flash of those claws. But his claws remained retracted, and he kept silent as I bound and wrapped his hand- surprisingly enough, there were no more than a few vicious cuts, none of them requiring stitching.

I secured the bandage in place and stepped away, bringing the bowl of bloody water to the deep sink in the back of the room. His eyes were a brand upon me as I finished cleaning, and the room became too small, too hot. He'd killed the Bogge and walked away relatively unscathed. If Tamlin was that powerful, then the High Lords of Prythian must be near-gods. Every mortal instinct in my body bleated in panic at the thought.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“... when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. 'Thank you,' he said hoarsely.

Nesta did not yank her hand away.

Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.

She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armour, at the strong column of his neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face.

Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand.

Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself-

'You're hurt?'

At the sound of Mor's voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. 'Nothing for you to cry over, don't worry.'

Nesta dragged her stare from his face- down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn't look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin