Page 30 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

“Stop that,” Emon snapped.

To her shock, She-Wolf did.

Tristan struggled to sit up. “I thought I told you—” he rasped, and then fell silent when he saw who Emon had brought.

The last person either of them expected—Mayah.

Tristan fell back on the pallet and turned his head away. “You shouldn’t have dragged her into this.”

“Why?” Mayah asked. “Because I’m a crazy dragon who’s only fit to sit cooped up in my room while people probe around in the carnival that is my mind?”

“She can heal,” Emon said. “You know. With magic? So you don’t die?”

“I’m not dying.”

Emon muttered something that sounded like, “If you don’t stop talking I’ll kill you myself.”

Mayah walked over to the pallet, and Trish got up and moved so that Mayah could kneel down by Tristan. Trish had put a temporary bandage on, and Mayah pulled it away so she could see better. Tristan hissed through his teeth with pain.

“Well, that looks nasty,” Mayah said. “I hear Trish did it. What did you do to piss her off?”

“Ha ha,” Tristan said. “Of course it’s my fault.”

“Shh,” she said. “Be quiet. I’m working here.”

“Then stop asking me questions.”

“How about you do what I say for a change? I’m enjoying being the one poking and prodding you, instead of the other way around.”

“I don’t poke and prod!”

Mayah rolled her eyes. “Does he ever shut up?” she asked the others.

“No,” said Trish and Emon simultaneously. Tristan gave a faint grin, but he stopped talking.

Mayah laid one hand on Tristan’s heart and the other on his neck. She closed her eyes.

A bluish-white glow surrounded her hands, spreading out in tendrils to all the places Tristan had been wounded. For a moment, every muscle in his body seemed to seize up, and then he relaxed with a small sigh.

Mayah’s brow furrowed in concentration. The wounds on his chest grew smaller, scabbing over, though they didn’t completely heal. The trickle of blood between her fingers stopped.

Finally, she opened her eyes. Tristan was staring up at her, an awed expression on his face.

“That was…” He shook his head, clearly at a loss for words.

“You’ll be all right now.” She smiled down at him. “It takes a lot out of the patient, though, so I focused mainly on the neck wounds. The others will have to finish healing on their own.”

“No prob.”

Mayah removed her hands from his neck. The horrible wounds there were closed, and his color was normal. Trish’s whole body sagged in relief. Thank god.

To cover her sudden rush of emotion, Trish wet a towel at the sink and brought it over. Carefully, Mayah began washing the blood from Tristan’s neck and chest.

At that moment, there was a faint chime from Emon’s pocket. He pulled out a small golden ball. “Fuck it,” he murmured. “It’s Grange. I have to answer.”

He rubbed his thumb over the surface of the ball, angling himself so nothing else in the room would be visible to his Head Steward.

Everyone could hear Grange, though.