She didn’t have to put on a display for him. The wound was large and deep enough to cause concern. He did his best to be gentle but also wouldn’t leave an area untouched. Infections could kill a man as easily as the wound itself. He knew Yennefer was too stubborn to die from something so simple but she didn’t have her potions or herbs with her. She would need to rely on the hotel’s so-called modern form of medical concoctions to get her through. Until then, Geralt knew it would take awhile for her to heal. As long as she didn’t exhaust herself by magically forcing it to heal faster.
More than her body, however, the witcher felt concern for her mind.
And them.
But that conversation would have to wait. She hadn’t dismissed him from the room or her side but her tone told him she was done talking. Which was fine with him. “Mhm,” he nodded in agreement and finished seeing to her wound, then patted it dry. Setting it aside, he rested back on the bed next to her. Even through the smoke and blood, he could still smell her perfume.
“Sleep, Yennefer. I’ll keep my eyes open.” He would stay until she woke again. If she was happy with him or not, at least she could trust him to keep her safe. He hoped.