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His eyes flashed open, searing blue. His hand clamped on her wrist. “What are you doing?”
“You’re hurt.” She hated to hear the tremor in her voice, but her fear of him—alone with him—was so huge. “An accident. I’m waiting for Glenna. We’ll help you. Lie still.” She saw the instant the pain woke in him, and some of her fear died. “Lie quiet. I can cool it a little.”
“Wouldn’t you rather I burn in hell?”
“I don’t know. But I know I don’t want to be the one who sends you. I wouldn’t have shot you last night. I’m ashamed I let you believe I would. I owe you my life.”
“Go away,
and we’ll call it quits.”
“Glenna’s coming. Is it cooling a little?”
He simply closed his eyes; and his body trembled. “I need blood.”
“Well, you won’t be having mine. I’m not that grateful.”
She thought his lips curved, just the slightest bit. “Not yours, though I’ll bet it’s tasty.” He had to catch the breath the pain stole. “In the case across the room. The black case with the silver handle. I need blood to—I just need it.”
She left him to open the case, then swallowed revulsion when she saw the clear packs that held dark red liquid.
“Bring it over, toss it and run, whatever you want, but I need it now.”
She brought it quickly, then watched him struggle to sit up, to tear the pack open with his burned hands. Saying nothing, she took the pack, opened it herself, spilling some.
“Sorry.” She gathered her strength, then used an arm to brace him, using her free hand to bring the pack to his lips.
He watched her as he drank, and she made herself look back into his eyes without flinching.
When he’d drained it dry, she laid his head down again before going into the bath for a cloth. With it she wiped his mouth, his chin.
“Small but valiant, are you?”
She heard the edge in his tone, and some return of its strength. “You haven’t a choice because of what you are. I haven’t one because of what I am.” She stepped back when Glenna hurried into the room.
Chapter 11
“Do you want something for the pain?” Glenna coated a thin cloth with balm.
“What have you got?”
“This and that.” She laid the cloth gently on his chest. “I’m so sorry, Cian. We should have locked the door.”
“A locked door wouldn’t have stopped me from coming in, not in my own house. You might try a sign next time, something along the lines…Bugger it!”
“I know, sorry, I know. It’ll be better in a minute. A sign?” she continued, her voice low and soothing as she worked. “Something like: Flammable Magicks. Keep out.”
“Wouldn’t hurt.” He felt the burn not just on the flesh, but down into the bone, as if the fire had burst inside him as well as out. “What the hell were you doing in there?”
“More than either of us were expecting. Moira, coat more cloth, would you. Cian?”
“What?”
She simply looked at him, deeply, her hands hovering just above the worst of the burns. She felt the heat, but not the release. “It won’t work unless you let it,” she told him. “Unless you trust me and let go.”
“A high price for a bit of relief, adding that you’re part of what put me here.”
“Why would she hurt you?” Moira continued to coat the cloth. “She needs you. We all do, like it or not.”
