I just needed to get to the other side. Another flick of Diehle’s fingers into the air carved a gash into my arm.
Among the many, many reasons not to deal with Diehle, the most vital one was that he was an unscrupulous asshole.
I risked a look at Diehle before sprinting toward the stones. Magic blasted into my back, sending me air bound and toward the treacherous water where Diehle’s pissed off mer-creature was waiting. A magical counter push into my chest sent me crashing to the ground. I landed on my butt, my knife a few inches away.
Diehle’s eyes blazed with fury. The scroll was gone, and he made several rote movements with his hands. The figs were tugged out of my jacket, soared through the air and reattached to the branch. A pained sob slipped out of me, thin and pitiful, more a whimper than a cry.
My body throbbed. I pushed away my anguish and was preparing to make another attempt for the fig, when a shadow fell over me. Cirrian’s tense body was hovering over me. Thebenefit of being able to teleport. I was about to ask—no, plead—for him to use it to get the fig.
“Is anything broken?” His voice was gentle as he extended a hand to help me stand. I’d never had a fracture before, so I had nothing to compare the pain to. The magic they’d both thrashed into me made me feel like I’d been battered against a brick wall. Everything ached.
When I inhaled deeply, a shrill pain ran through my ribs. “My ribs ache and my side hurts a little. I don’t think anything is broken. My stomach and arm feel like they’re on fire,” I told him, taking in the shimmering protective enclosure around us.
“May I?” he asked, his hand lingering on the zipper of my jacket. I nodded, trying to ignore Diehle’s vicious threats and promises of reprisal that penetrated our hub of safety. Cirrian was gentle as he helped me out of the jacket and let it drop to the ground. Kneeling, he slowly rolled up the bottom of my shirt to reveal the cut on my stomach. I’d seen the damage to my arm and wasn’t in a rush to look at the injury on my stomach, which felt worse. Cirrian’s low growl confirmed I was right.
“You succeeded despite his cheating.” There was admiration in his expression and resonating deep in the timbre of his voice. Cirrian’s intensity was hard to handle. Even his compliments felt like a weighted blanket. My eyes flicked to the fresh rips in my jacket. I wondered if I needed to invest in Kevlar. Would it have fared any better against an aggrieved demon determined to rip me apart?
Cirrian’s fingers ran along my skin, gentle and unhurried. His touch tamped down my concern arising from Diehle standing outside the barrier, leveling threats of violence that were becoming increasingly detailed and sadistic as his rage increased.
“Asshole,” Cirrian muttered.
I choked on suppressed laughter. The king of assholes, calling someone else one?
“He should have just let you have the fruit.” The hostility in his voice belied the gentle way his thumb strummed over my skin before standing.
His hands rested on my hips.
“I need to heal your wounds,” he told me. “There’s going to be a little pinch. Okay?”
Cirrian’s expression betrayed none of his emotions, but the unsettled fury in his rigid posture spoke volumes. Waves of restless anger came off him as he watched Diehle circle the shimmering dome that covered us. If I could hear Cirrian’s heart pounding, the situation could easily escalate out of control. Then I realized it wasn’t the beat of his heart but my oath mark that was pulsing like a heartbeat.
Cirrian tore his eyes from Diehle. It was becoming increasingly hard to ignore the rampaging demon as his magic battered the enclosure. Fear coursed through me when the dome faltered under the demon’s assault. Cirrian shot him a warning look.
Diehle’s angry words had devolved to crazed promises of violence and death. Cirrian had an easier time disregarding him than I did. Diehle had injured me by using my blood signature on the contract, and I eyed him, wondering in what other ways he could weaponize it to hurt me.
Cirrian’s finger hooked under my chin, guiding my eyes back to him. “Kara, keep your eyes on me.”
I did. Meeting his amber gaze, I let the molten warmth in his eyes distract me from the chaos around us, managing a soft “’kay.”
Embers of light flared over our markings. Slow, sinuous magic threaded through my binding mark, cool and warmsimultaneously with a mild tingle. Just as I gave in to its tranquility, a sharp twinge pierced me.
Does he know what a pinch feels like?Or is this just a pinch for a person with an appreciation for pain?
Magic continued to weave through me, mending the injured skin. It was like someone was suturing my injuries using a topical analgesic instead of a nerve block.
“Do you even know what a pinch feels like?” I voiced aloud through gritted teeth.
He blinked in confusion. I wondered if this was what he’d experienced healing his own wounds after he’d coaxed me into stabbing him.
“Sorry,” he murmured. It carried real regret. “I don’t heal others often.”
When he was finished, a cooling menthol sensation flittered over the healed skin. He laid his hand over my exposed stomach, stroking the skin.
“Perfect,” he whispered. He must have sensed the mend, because his eyes never left mine.
Taking hold of my hands in his, he asked, “Kara, will you do me a favor?”
I nodded.
