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When she could go no farther, she spiraled down to a large, uneven stalagmite of rock that split the floor of this part of the cavern. She clung to it, letting it press into her aching side, waiting for the spasms to pass. It would take time, for the muscles had worked themselves into a fine knot. But more alarming to her was that the visions were continuing, spinning through her mind like a whirlpool, building in power, not lessening. As her now taloned fingers dug into the rock, she imagined them gouging into flesh, gleefully taking it off in ribbons, leaving a bare skull, empty sockets.
She rocked against the stone, moaning, and then with a snarl, she jammed the middle finger of the three-fingered hand against the unyielding stone, breaking the bone.
The pain was blinding, driving darkness from her vision with a glaring whiteness that threatened unconsciousness. She pressed her forehead against the rock, which even through the water smelled of the dank things that lived in a cave like this, like her. Is that what David smelled when he touched her damp flesh? Mold and stagnant, trapped water. And she was supposed to believe he was attracted to her, like she was some type of idiot?
No one would use her. No one. Not even the dark blood inside her.
Then she felt his hands. The bloodlust in her roared in fury. Trying to twist, she snapped at him, taking a swipe. When he caught her wrist, she cried out, her lower body rolling upward, the tentacles wrapping around the rock to protect her side.
"Ssh..." Gingerly, he guided her arm back around his neck, as if she didn't have six-inch claws capable of ripping his head right off.
Since she'd expected him to yank her off the rock, demand some response from her, it was confusing to realize he wasn't doing either of those things. Instead, his touch ran down her hair. The other hand sought her broken-fingered one. She tucked it against her, evading him.
"No healing." She gasped it. "No."
She could tell it bothered him, that he was set to overrule her, and she knew at this moment he easily could. But then he surprised her again. He nodded, his jaw pressed against the side of her head, and took his hand lower, to her side, where he found the knotted muscle and began to explore it.
"Can't heal it. Don't," she repeated.
"I won't," he promised. "I'm just going to rub it, make it feel better. Just relax."
"This is all your fault," she said. "I wouldn't have cared about their stupid shell necklaces or who gave them to them if it wasn't for your oranges and chocolate and stupid attempt to protect me."
"I know," he said, though she was sure he had no idea what she was babbling on about, sounding even to her own ears like an irritable, immature teenager.
He'd known what she meant about the healing, however. They'd gone down that road before. He'd given her his blood to heal her that very first time and as a side effect, he could track her anywhere. She couldn't escape him.
But that deed was done. What made her fear his healing touch was what else had happened. He'd not only managed to heal one of the fresh wounds, his energy had spilled over and begun to heal the scars on her face, something no angel should be able to do.
But apparently he had some practical skills, for his fingers had found the snarled muscles along her scarred side and were kneading them, applying pressure where needed, alternating between the fingers and heel of his hand. With his other hand, he was massaging her undamaged one, using pressure points there to ease what was going on in her side. More importantly, it was helping to calm her mind.
She made herself focus inward, use the unexpected assistance to drive back the darkness once more, find that equilibrium point. As the pain slowly began to recede, taking the whirling darkness with it, she became hyperaware of his body pressed behind her, holding her between his chest and the rock, another steadying influence. Water moved around them, buoying them and providing an additional familiar constant.
Her fingers were her fingers again, the bite of her nails no longer capable of deep gouges, though when he guided her hand back over her own shoulder to rest on his, she could feel the torn skin she'd caused in her internal struggle. It would heal, of course. She likely wouldn't even be able to see the wound on him by the time she turned, but she knew he experienced pain like any other creature. Yet he hadn't even flinched when she'd done it.
"Easy," he said softly, but when he tried to continue to massage the individual finger joints of the hand by his neck, she twined her fingers with his to make him stop. That, too, he seemed to anticipate. He simply let their interlaced grip rest there while he turned his full attention to the kneading of her side. When his probing became easy, full strokes, she couldn't stifle the relieved sigh that settled her body in the curve of his.
His hand drifted to her hip. With his mouth on the crown of her head, her hair would be moving in the water's grip, strands brushing against his jaw and cheek again. It made her uninjured hand itch to do the same, just as it had earlier. She closed her eyes. This was an impossible situation.
"Can I help you splint that finger?" he murmured.
Six
MINA raised her head from his shoulder and faced his expression. Their bodies were tangled together against the rocks like seaweed in a Gulf Stream current, and his expression was concerned. Maybe even angry with her, but in a way that made something lurch in her chest, tighten her lower abdomen, despite the throbbing in her finger. Gods, it hurt.
They were in the portion of her cave system that had her stores, so she directed him to where the proper supplies would be. When she laid her hand with some trepidation on the rock, he surprised her once again by setting the finger capably, needing little guidance. His hands were gentle, firm, unhurried, but he didn't rush as someone would who was nervous about causing additional pain, or go too slowly, which would prolong it. She wanted to ask him how he knew about mortal, non-magic healing practices, but she couldn't afford to show curiosity.
Plus, the pain was overwhelming enough to make breathing difficult, let alone speech. Her gills were fluttering when he was done, her vision gray at the edges. It took effort to stave off the faint, and she realized he was holding her upper arms, steadying her.
"Seawitch?"
The voice filtered down from the cave mouth. David stiffened, but Mina shook her head. Shook herself. "It's the merman who requested the potion."
"You can't do this right now."
"I can." Loosening her grip on the rock at last, she got away from him with a slithering move and drew her cowl back over her head. Gerard's voice helped her remember herself. Push back her pain, clear her mind, get back on track. After all, she'd had situations where she'd had to recover far more quickly, with far more serious injuries.
The pain would ebb. The important thing was the hold of the darkness had been broken again, and she had to make it clear she'd have been perfectly capable of handling the situation herself. So glancing at David's all-too-knowing gaze, his taut mouth, which looked on the verge of issuing another high-handed order, she said, in a reasonably steady tone, "This won't take long. Stay here. Else you're going to destroy my reputation entirely."
"Your reputation?" David bit back his overwhelming urge to order her to stay right where she was. She was pale, paler than he'd expect even a merperson living out of sight of the sun to be, and there was still a tremor to her limbs. He forced himself to focus on her barbed comment, since he could tell she was desperate for him to do so. "What does that mean?"
"If I have an angel guardian, what does that look like? That I'm not only interesting, but approachable. An angel would never approach anything wholly evil except to kill her," Mina pointed out. "So if they see you, it will start speculation. And part of why they get the potions from me is because they think I draw from dark forces, which they feel lends the potion greater potency."
"So those who come for your potions are seeking evil?"
"No. Those who come for my potions have that perverse mortal desire to feel they've dared to grasp at darkness, when in fact they've only brushed it without th
e danger of actually realizing what it is." Her red eye glinted.
"So my goodness and purity is bad for business?"
