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“So what exactly happened a year ago, at your cemetery?” His gaze slid over my damaged cheek.

I swallowed thickly, my palms immediately growing sweaty. “Some twisted people tried to take what was ours. They unleashed evil spirits and tried to bring a monster back from Hell to do it. My boyfriend…Brody, had been using me to get to my family. I didn’t realize until it was too late.” I shook out my fingers when I realized I’d fisted them so tight they ached. “We fought at the cemetery. He fired his dark magic at me, but missed his mark, which I’m guessing was my heart, and got my face instead. I was left with this.” I brushed my fingers over my cheek and shivered as memories flashed through my mind.

He said nothing, the silence stretching out. I couldn’t meet his eyes all of a sudden.

“Iris,” Draven finally rasped, his voice full of something I was too scared to name.

The door opened, and an older female carrying a bag walked in—their healer. Draven had called for her the last time I was here, but I’d fallen asleep before she arrived. “Right, let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.”

Draven stood, and I wanted to reach for him, to keep him close. I resisted, barely. I was glad for the interruption, I hated talking about that awful time, but I could admit, having him close while I did, made it easier.

The other female sat on the side of the bed and lifted one of my forearms. Her hold was soft and her hands warm. She reminded me a little of my gran when she’d been alive.

“Your arms are a mess. I’m going to have to restitch these, honey.” Her kind brown eyes met mine. “Did you do this?”

“Yes. I mean, I had to, for a ritual.”

She screwed up her face. “Witches and their rituals, always cutting themselves.” She shook her head. “You could have died. I need to get in there and clean the wounds out. Best you’re asleep for that.” She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a bottle. “Take this, it’ll knock you out while I do it.”

“No,” the word burst from me.

Her brows lifted.

I took a steadying breath. “No,” I said again, more gently. “I don’t want to sleep.” I couldn’t bear it, not yet, not after those awful visions.

She gave me an exasperated look. “It’s going to hurt like hell.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is there something else you can give her, Mari?” Draven asked, like he knew I was too scared to close my eyes.

Mari turned to him. “I can use something to help numb it, but she’s still gonna feel it. You’ll need to hold her still.”

He nodded and moved back to the bed. That’s when I realized he was only wearing a pair of jeans. The button was undone, and his scarred chest was streaked with blood, my blood.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. Having him that close again was dangerous because I liked him close. I liked it too much.

“No, you won’t be,” Mari said. “And I can’t have you jerking and pulling away and hurting yourself even more.”

Without a word, Draven slid in behind me, his thick, solid thighs going to either side of mine, then he wrapped his arms around me from behind, taking one of my forearms in his hot, rough-skinned hands.

Mari gathered what she needed, and I barely noticed. I was far too aware of the way Draven’s heart was beating against my back and his slow, even breaths beside my ear. And then there was the heat of his body against mine. So much heat. I’d been cold, so impossibly cold. Now the warmth of his skin soaked into mine, going right into my bones. Whatever strength I had washed from me, and I had no choice but to let him hold me up.

He made a growling sound, so low, I didn’t even think Mari heard it, and his arms tightened around me a little more.

“Don’t let her pull away,” Mari said to him.

“It’s okay, Marisol will take care of you,” he said against my ear, his voice soft, intimate.

I shivered and nodded, unable to speak all of a sudden.

Mari smeared her numbing cream on my forearms, then carefully snipped the rough stitches I’d hastily done. She made a tutting sound and winced a little. “Yep, these will need a good clean out.” She placed a towel under my arm, then, using a syringe, she started flushing out the wound.

“That’s not so bad,” I said.

She nodded. “That’s the numbing cream, but I have to go a little deeper now.”

Draven’s hand tightened under my arm, his other locking around my waist. Marisol pressed on the wound, opening the slice wider. I jerked and instinctively tried to pull away. Draven held me fast. His face pressed against the side of my mine. “It’ll be over soon,” he said in that calm, soothing voice. “I’ve got you. You’re nearly done.”