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Drom leaned over me, gripping one arm and wrapping his fingers around my throat with the other. “I’m going to teach you?—”
He screamed. A horrible crack, then his head was hauled back. As Drom let me go, he gave me a violent shove toward the wall. I caught the flash of furious silver eyes right before my head whacked the cavern wall, and I slid down to the cold, stone floor. A haze swept my vision, dragging me under as I whispered, “Kol.”
Chapter Twelve
Cold sweat slicked my brow. My head throbbed. I couldn’t open my eyes. Voices sounded muffled and distant. I was still in the cave, but I was safe. Lorian’s voice came clearly into focus.
“…needs a healer. I’ll take her to?—”
“No.” A powerful outburst, then quieter words. “I’ll take care of her.”
Lorian didn’t protest. I doubted anyone would after that dominant command. I tried to open my eyes, to say something, to ask what happened, but all that came out was a soft moan as I was lifted into someone’s strong arms. The crushing pain in my head increased. I slipped back into the black.
When I awoke again, I could barely lift my lids. The sharp profile of Kol’s face silhouetted against a moon-bright sky. My arms and torso were wrapped in something warm, though my cheeks stung from icy wind. I felt the familiar sensation of flying. Rather than in a harness, Kol carried me. My vision hazed as I went under again.
Warm. I was warm in a soft bed, though I felt pin-pricks of pain on my upper left arm. I felt him nearby. A masculine woodsy smell wafted over me. Opening my eyes, there he was, large as life, bending over me in deep concentration. I peered at the spot where his hands were doing something. Pain throbbed.
“Are you stitching me up?” My sleepy voice sounded more scratchy than usual.
His eyes flicked up to mine, then back to his work. “Either that or let you bleed all over my bed.”
His bed!
I tried to sit up. He splayed a firm hand across my upper chest, fingertips across my collar bones, and promptly pushed me back down before he went back to his stitching.
“You’ll pop the stitches before I’m even through. Be still.”
His voice was low and gruff, but no dragon lurked there. He sounded strangely calm compared to the voice I heard between unconsciousness and awake. The voice who had refused to let anyone take me but him.
A smooth gray stone arced upward to a dome-like ceiling. Somewhere, I heard water. Rain? Couldn’t be. The first snow had fallen in a torrent. Rain was months away now. My head must be still fuzzy from whacking against that wall. I remembered Borgus, Drom, the cavern.
“Kol. What happened?”
“The operation failed.” He continued to suture the gash in my upper arm.
“I was so close. We almost?—”
He stopped stitching. His frown deepened over a narrow gaze. “We won’t be making a third attempt. So don’t even think about asking.”
I said nothing, feeling mollified. He went back to work on my arm. I couldn’t admit what a coward I’d become at the last second. How I wanted to back out, to call for help right before Drom and his oafish friends came barreling in, thus ending our grand plan. There was irony for you. The jerk I couldn’t stand had saved me from going through what I knew now was a definite mistake. There was something else at the edge of my mind, trying to snake its way in. I pushed it back, watching Kol. His hands were so large—broad, long-fingered, yet gentle and deft at stitching.
“Did we get Borgus?”
Somehow, I knew the answer before he gave it to me.
“No. He slipped out while we took care of that asshole and his asshole friends. If Borgus’s men were there, they were well-hidden and long gone by the time we’d dealt with the others.” The asshole, no doubt, being Drom.
A white-waxed candle burned low on a side-table. From this angle, his scar stood out in stark relief, an angry line marking this Morgon man, making him more severe, more cold, more distant. Whether from being half-stupid from the knockout or just plain insane, I touched two fingers to the top of his scar. He froze.
“Did this hurt?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
I trailed my fingers feather-light down the reddened scar past his lips to where it stopped beneath. “Does it still hurt?”
Swift and sudden, he gripped my wrist in an iron hold, pinning me with simmering rage. “Don’t.” He gave me one shake of the head. A warning.
He angled his head lower and snapped the thread’s end with his teeth. He was up and moving away before it dawned on me how stupid I was. What in the world had possessed me to do that? I must’ve hit my head pretty damn hard.
