Chapter Twelve
Evan awoke to searing, unholy pain. He hadn’t experienced pain this bad since the ’rents had died. Elgdrek and Hagilth, his demonic “family,” had delighted in torturing him. Been good at it, too, the sickos.
Opening his eyes, he looked around. He was in a sunny room, reclining on a bank of pillows on a big bed. Long windows offered a view of the river and a lush flower garden. He frowned, trying to get his bearings. Gradually, the memories trickled back, dim and sluggish. He was at Cassie Ferguson’s place, the one they called the witch, and there’d been a demon attack. The nasty buggers had gone after Duncan and Red, and the ogre had busted loose. No wonder he felt three kinds of awful—monstering out drained him and gave him a mother of a shifter hangover, but that wasn’t the worst of it. One of the damn demons had exploded.
He caught a faint whiff of violets and wood smoke.
Taryn bent over him. “Ah, you are awake.”
Her liquid voice washed over him, easing his pain and making his Johnson sit up and wag. Damn her. She could read the back of a can of motor oil and make him hard. Jesus, he needed to get a grip.
Nah, he needed to get laid, and not by this tight-ass ice goddess, either.
He sat up in the bed and kicked the covers aside. “Can’t put anything over on you, Red. You’re too smart.”
He looked down. Yep, still wearing the awk-tastic trousers, but the multicolor coat and the stupid belled shoes were gone. The source of his agony was obvious. His left foot, chest, and hands were cooked, injured when the demon went kablooey. The skin around the burns was cracked and oozing, and his fingers were covered in blisters the size of silver dollars.
The damn knee breeches were spotless, though, and so was the rest of him. Not a speck of dirt anywhere. He sensed a certain Kirvahni huntress with OCD tendencies at work. Turning his head, he saw Duncan lying beside him. The poor son of a bitch looked bad. Half his face was melted, and the rest of him was a mangled mess. But he was clean, by God, free of demon funk and soot. Taryn was a regular grime-fighting, dust-busting superhero.
She was thorough, you could say that about her. Meticulous, methodical, and painstaking. Focused in the extreme.
He’d love to loosen her up. Rock her universe and make her scream.
But that would be nuts, a total freaking disaster. Taryn Kirvahni was not for him.
“Good job cleaning us up.” Holding his hands in front of him, Evan watched Taryn from beneath lowered brows. “Thanks.”
“I am, of course, gratified by your approval, but thanks are unnecessary,” Taryn said. “I could scarce put you abed as you were. ’Twould spoil Cassandra’s lovely linens.”
So Nature Gal liked nice things. He made a mental note to purchase a set of Egyptian cotton sheets for the house, then gave himself a swift kick. He was not getting Red in the sack. For all kinds of reasons, the most important being survival. She’d probably kill him. For reals. The chick was lethal.
He yelped as the subject of his musings lifted his injured foot and slid a pillow under it. “Ow, watch it.”
Taryn bent over him again, her brow creased with concern. “Does it pain you?”
“Like a sumbitch.”
“Good. ’Tis what you deserve.” She straightened, her full mouth pressed in what he privately called the Schoolmarm Line. “That demon you attacked was one of the morkyn.”
“So?”
“So, witless one, a morkyn is the most powerful caste of demon, not a chicken to have its neck wrung. Look at what you have done to your poor hands. What were you thinking?”
“Not much.” Evan tossed his hair out of his eyes. “Thinking’s not exactly his strong suit.”
“Indeed? Then in that respect, you and the ogre are much alike.”
“Aw, Red, stop busting my balls. I’m hurt, and I’ve monstered out twice in twenty-four hours. That shit’s hard on a guy.”
“Hmm,” Taryn said, tapping one foot. “I suppose there is nothing for it but to heal you, though it goes against my better judgment and the Great Directive. Leave all as you find it, lest, by injudicious interference, you alter the course of events.”
“And break the rules? You’d implode, Little Miss Stick-in-the-Mud.”
“You think me hide-bound?”
“If that’s a fancy word for pain-in-the-ass control freak, then yeah.”
He was being mean, but he couldn’t help it. She drove him crazy.
“The Great Directive is a lodestar, not an imperative,” she replied calmly, not rising to the bait. “Others before me have used their talents to aid worthy mortals wounded in combat with the enemy.”
She was actually thinking of breaking the rules? For him? The knowledge made his chest tighten.
“Yeah, but I’m demon scum,” he said. “The good news is I don’t need your help.” Leaning his head against the pillows, he gave her a sickly smile. “Demon blood, baby. The kith heal fast. I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot tarry. I must be about my business and would see you mended ere I go.”
“I’m touched, Red. Really, but no thanks. If you’re so all-fired set on healing somebody, take a crack at Duncan. He looks like shit.”
“Such is mine intent. I could hardly, in good conscience, heal a demonoid care-for-nobody and refuse mine aid to a brother hunter.”
Before he could retort, the bedroom door slammed open, and Cassie stalked into the room. “What? I’ve been worried out of my mind. Terrified that Duncan might . . . that he could . . . that I might not be able to . . .” She shook her head. “And all the while, you could heal him? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Taryn arched a brow. “You did not ask.”
* * *
Cassie was trembling with fury. Of all the imperious, hoity-toity females, Taryn was the worst. Beck had mentioned once that the Dal and the Kir got along like a terrier and a rat in a croker sack. Less than an hour in Taryn’s company, and she could sympathize. Taryn could make a preacher cuss.
Still, she had to admit that Taryn had mad skills. In the space of a few moments and without help, the Kir had put both injured males to bed, removing every trace of grime and demon sludge from their bodies in the process.
A nice bit of magic in anyone’s book.
Duncan had not regained consciousness. Taryn had stripped him out of his torn shirt and boots and covered him in a white sheet. His head rested against a pillow, his honey-streaked hair swept back from his burned face. From Cassie’s angle, his profile was smooth and unmarred, that of a sleeping prince.
“Didn’t ask?” Cassie said to Taryn, her voice rising. “I told you I was going to fetch medicines and bandages.”
The Kir held up a slim forefinger. “That is incorrect. You said, to be exact, that you were getting supplies for a party.”
“That was sarcasm. Nobody in their right mind would have a party at a time like this.”
“I thought a party exceedingly ill-timed, but I am unfamiliar with kith customs,” Taryn said with a shrug. “In the Blasted Regions of Gorth, members of the Plaveeki tribe bang drums and play pipes around the tents of ailing loved ones to frighten death away. And in the jungles of Yarthac, the tree people eat their dead to discourage predators.”
“This is Hannah,” Cassie said, striving not to lose her temper. “We don’t have a hoedown when somebody’s sick, and we don’t eat our dead.”
“Skinners do.” Verbena eased into the room. “Skinners is like rats. They eats anything.”
Taryn gave the girl a cool glance. “Thank you. I shall endeavor to remember that. You are?”
Verbena nodded, her eyes wide. “Name’s Verbena.”
“Greetings, Verbena. I am Taryn.” She returned her attention to Evan. “Now, then, sirrah. Shall we proceed?”
“Get the wax out of your ears, Red,” Evan said. “The answer hasn’t changed. I get the shakes when I monster out. They’ll pass.”
“There is no need to be afraid.” Taryn spoke in a soothing murmur. “’Twill not hurt. Much, at any rate.”
He stiffened. “Who said anything about being afraid? The Hag did a number on me, that’s all, and I’m not anxious for more.”
“I thank you for the flattering comparison, but the Kir do not practice dark magic.”
“Don’t poker up, Red. This isn’t about you, this is about self-preservation. No telling what your Dalvahni hoodoo will do.”
“’Tis bound to be an improvement.”
“Typical woman, always trying to change a guy.”
“I do not wish to change you, jack-at-warts. I wish to help you. Have you e’er been burned by demon fire?”
“No.”
“Then you cannot know how long ’twill take you to heal, e’en given your demon blood. And you have been weakened by the change. Is it your desire to be confined in bed for days, perhaps weeks, an invalid at my tender mercy?”
Evan looked genuinely horrified at the prospect. “Good God, no.”
“Then let me help you.”
Evan glanced around as though seeking a means of escape. “Aintchu got a rogue to catch, or something?”
“In truth, I do. E’en so, I will abide here, though—”
“Aw, Red. You so schweet.”
“Chafing at the delay. You will not enjoy my company, I assure you. I shall make you utterly and completely wretched.”
“Shit,” Evan said. “This is blackmail.”
Taryn folded her arms across her chest. “’Tis a promise.”
Evan muttered something extremely foul, then held out his hands. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I must be out of my mind.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Cassie said, losing patience. “Stop being a jackass and let her help you. Or not. Duncan’s hurt, too.”
“So heal him already,” Evan said, looking stubborn. “I’m down with that.”
“I shall heal you both,” said Taryn. “Now silence, little goat, so that I may concentrate.”
Taryn placed her hands a few inches above Evan’s body and closed her eyes. Green light pulsed from her in soothing waves, washing over him.
Evan stiffened. “Hey, that—” He arched his back. “Stop it, Red. That . . . yeoowww.”
The burns on Evan’s hands, chest, and foot faded and were replaced by healthy tissue. Color tinged his pallid cheeks and pale lips, signaling the return of wellness and vitality.
Chest heaving, Evan collapsed against the pillows. Cassie could have wept with relief. If Taryn could do that for Evan, she could do the same for Duncan. He was going to be all right. They both were. She wouldn’t have to try to heal him with spells and guesswork and unguents that might or might not work. Taryn knew what she was doing.
It was going to be all right.
As Cassie watched, Taryn lifted her hands, and the waves spread, suffusing Duncan in shimmering opalescence. At once, the waxy burns on his face softened and grew pink, and the charred edges blurred and disappeared. New flesh budded, knit, and healed. Within moments, Duncan’s face was returned to its former glory.
Anxiously, Cassie scanned his features. One cheek might be a tad shinier than the other, but otherwise he seemed fine. Even his torn ear had regenerated.
Something rigid and tight unfolded inside Cassie. Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees. “Thank God,” she said, clapping her hands over her face. “Oh, thank God.”
“What ho. This is passing strange.”
Cassie stilled, her heartbeat ratcheting into overdrive. Lowering her hands, she saw Taryn gazing down at Duncan, her brow furrowed. “What is it?” Cassie asked, jumping to her feet.
“The demon marks.” Raising her arm, Taryn pointed. “They are unchanged.”
Cassie rushed to the bed. Taryn was right. Deep scores marred the smoothly muscled skin of Duncan’s shoulders and upper chest. Ichor seeped from the raw gashes, crusted over and cracked, oozing anew, leaving damp patches on the white cotton. Slowly, Cassie peeled back the sheet, revealing the hard planes of Duncan’s chest. His jeans rode low on his hips, exposing his taut, ridged abdomen. He was built like a god, perfection in masculine form.
Perfection that had been obscenely marred, a Greek statue pockmarked and wasted by time and the elements.
Gazing at Duncan’s ravaged body, Cassie felt the last of her anger and bitterness melt away. She hated seeing him like this. The Duncan she knew was strong and dynamic, an indomitable warrior abrim with vitality and purpose, a maddening tease with his laughing eyes and smiling mouth, not this broken wreck. She wanted him hale and hearty, taunting her into a hissy fit from across the river.
Or closer, the inner voice said. Admit it. You enjoy sparring with him. He makes you feel alive.
A shiver racked Duncan’s big body. Cassie laid a hand on his forehead, then snatched it away. His skin was dry and hot to the touch.
“He’s burning up.” Hurrying to the chest at the foot of the bed, she grabbed a blanket and spread it over Duncan. “I don’t understand. Your magic worked on Evan. Why isn’t Duncan better?”
Taryn bit her lip. “In truth, I cannot say. The gods have blessed our kind with unsurpassed recuperative powers. We know not sickness or lasting hurt.” She indicated one of the pustulent bites on Duncan’s neck. “Observe how the wound scabs and bursts open again? Duncan’s body wars with the demon venom for mastery. Alas, I fear the toxin is too strong.”
“Meaning?”
“Something has weakened him, something that has made his magic and mine ineffectual.”
“Like what?”
“I can only surmise the chocolate is to blame.”
Cassie stared at her in bewilderment. “You think Duncan’s half-dead because he’s got a chocolate hangover? That’s crazy.”
Evan rose from the bed and stretched like a cat after a long nap, seemingly none the worse for his ogreish adventures. He was a handsome thing, with his dark, sultry good looks and pantherlike grace. He reminded Cassie a lot of his sister.
“You’re wrong, Red,” Evan said. “Grim got drunk as a road lizard on chocolate a few months back. Other than a bad head the next morning and a shitty attitude, he was okay.”
“Grim?” Cassie gave him a blank look.
“Demon hunter. Married Sarah Elizabeth Peterson.”
“Oh, yes,” Cassie said, remembering. “I know Sassy and I’ve seen Grim.”
Sassy Peterson was perky to the max. Though she and Cassie were very different, they had one thing in common, one very important thing. The Hag had done her best to kill them both. She’d taken Sassy and Cassie captive, hog-tied them, and held them prisoner in the old farmhouse on Cassie’s property. The Hag had planned to kill Cassie outright, but her plans for Sassy had been more diabolical. She had planned to eat Sassy, consuming her in bits and pieces for her fairy essence. Cassie shuddered at the memory.
But there was more to Sassy Peterson than a bubbly personality. Sassy had summoned an army of vengeful fairies, freeing herself and Cassie, and vanquishing the Hag in style. Grim had been there that day—Cassie had caught a glimpse of the big warrior when she’d stumbled out of the cabin, shell-shocked and hysterical. Duncan had been there, too, and they’d had a humdinger of an argument.
“Yeah?” Evan was saying, looking lost in thought. “Now that I think about it, Grim had a shitty attitude before he got drunk. Attitude’s standard equipment with the Dalvahni.” He shot Taryn a sly glance. “The Kir, too. Not a sense of humor in the bunch. Except for Duncan. Duncan’s all right.”
“Evan, my brother suffers, and my patience dwindles,” Taryn said. “If there is a point to your discourse, reach it.”
“All right, here it is. It’s not the chocolate, so one of two things has happened. Either the Dalvahni have changed. Grown weaker, somehow—”
Taryn made a noise of disapproval. “They have not.”
“Or the djegrali have mutated.”
“Absurd,” Taryn said. “The djegrali are older than the stars. For eons, they have remained unaltered.”
“Yeah? Welcome to Hannah, Red. Weird central.”