Page 57 of Dhampira

Curiosity and the scent of blood drew me closer, and I moved in and out of the bands of moonlight. “That has to hurt. I can fix it.”

His scowl deepened as he finally ceased his spinning. He started to square his shoulders, then winced and settled for pinning me with a glare. “It’s not your concern.”

I folded my arms. “It’s a dislocated shoulder. I’ve seen dozens of them.”

“Congratulations.”

“You’re bleeding,” I said, my fangs aching. Power whispered through the air, and it traveled on the scent of his blood. Slashes marred the fabric on his forearm. I’d missed them in the darkened stairwell.

Lorcan took a step back. Then he seemed to realize what he’d done, and his own fangs flashed as he leveled an arrogant look at me. “I said it’s nothing.”

“Saying it doesn’t make it true.” I uncrossed my arms, and I knew my surprise showed as I smothered a gasp. “Are you afraid to let me fix it?”

He huffed. “Of course not.”

“You are,” I said, my surprise growing. Although maybe it shouldn’t have. Mama had tended a lot of dislocated shoulders—and most of them had belonged to men, who were notorious babies when it came to pain. Give me a mother in labor any day over a man with an ingrown toenail, she’d said on more than one occasion. Apparently, men and their pride were the same on both sides of the Feyline.

Exasperation flitted over Lorcan’s face. “I’m not afraid.”

I shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Fine,” he snapped, his tone as frosty as his expression. “Fix it, if you must.”

Renewed surprise rendered me speechless for a second. I gestured to the bed. “You’ll, uh, need to sit down.”

He hesitated, his dark eyes wary. “I’ll stand.”

It was my turn to be exasperated. I heard Mama in my voice as I pointed to the bed. “You’ll fall when the joint pops back into place. Trust me.”

Lorcan gave me a look that said trusting me was the last thing he’d do, but he went to the bed. He sat gingerly on the edge, his body facing the balcony doors, then met my eyes like a condemned man gazing upon his executioner.

Nerves swept me. Now that I had his compliance, I wasn’t entirely certain what to do with it.

“How did you come by the injury?” I asked, moving closer. Even as the question left my lips, I knew the answer. He was a vampire. A predator who needed blood far more often than I did. Undoubtedly, his most recent meal had fought back when he fed.

The frost in his eyes deepened. “There was a disagreement,” he said flatly.

I raised an eyebrow as I drew close. “A disagreement that resulted in a dislocated shoulder and claw marks on your arm?” Blood healed my wounds quickly, but I was a dhampir. Maybe full vampires healed more slowly.

His jaw tightened. “A spirited disagreement.”

I stopped in front of him, my knees nearly brushing his. The scent of his blood swirled thicker. My fangs throbbed in response, and I swallowed hard.

“Take off your jacket,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.

Lorcan’s lips thinned. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It is if you want to avoid excessive pain.” When he didn’t move, I sighed. “All right. I’ll work around it.”

He said nothing. Just stared out the window. Waiting.

I moved to his side, my thigh alongside his. Heat touched my cheeks as his spicy scent swirled around me. Why had I offered to do this? He was a pretentious, condescending asshole, Rasimir’s adviser and, most likely, mad from drinking the creatures of Nocta to death. I should have let him suffer.

Instead, I took his wrist. Up close, the slashes on his sleeve were deeper than I’d first thought. Old blood dried on the fabric, and glimpses of his skin appeared between the rips. Humans weren’t capable of slashing cloth—at least, not without a knife. But the wounds weren’t from a blade. They were evenly spaced, as if something had slashed him with claws. Maybe fangs.

Lorcan’s pulse thudded under my fingers. His blood invaded my lungs, its power tugging at something inside me. A knot, maybe. It tugged and tugged, trying to pull me apart.

My fingers tightened before I could stop them. Lorcan twitched but quickly caught himself, his gaze unwavering.