Circle of Death (Damask Circle 2)
glanced at her. “This will hurt.”
He began washing the wound, and her whole leg suddenly felt like it was on fire. Sweat broke out across her forehead, and she hissed, gripping the sides of the chair so tightly her fingers ached. “Tell me why you’re here,” she all but ground out.
“I’ve already told you—I’m investigating a murder.” Though his touch was gentle, it felt like he was pounding her leg with a hammer.
“Is Helen’s death connected to your murder?”
It came out sharper than she’d intended, and he looked up. There was sympathy in his expression, as well as understanding. It made something ache deep in her heart. Which was stupid, really, considering she didn’t even know this man, let alone trust him. She pulled her gaze from his.
“Yes.”
“Am I?”
“Probably.” He hesitated. “Someone obviously wants you dead.”
“Why?” The question was more a desperate plea for understanding, and she didn’t really expect an answer. Until they found the person responsible for Helen’s slaughter, the answer to such a question would be little more than guesswork.
“I’d say because someone wants something you have.”
She snorted softly. “That statement is so wrong it’s almost laughable. I have nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
His bright gaze caught hers again and something deep inside her shivered. This man saw too much, knew too much. He was dangerous on so many different levels that she should just get up and run while she still could.
“If that were true, they would not be so determined in their efforts to find you. Remember that the next time you decide to run off.”
There wasn’t much she could say to that, so she childishly stuck her tongue out instead. He smiled and continued washing her leg. The wounds, once cleaned, turned out to be fairly deep and a good inch long. They were still bleeding profusely.
She frowned. “Maybe you should take me to the hospital.”
“Maybe.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out a small, cloth-wrapped parcel.
“What’s that?”
“An old witch’s herbal cure-all for wounds,” he said, carefully unwrapping the parcel. Inside was what looked to be little more than dried-up garden clippings.
“You’re not putting that on my leg,” she said.
He grabbed her leg before she could move it, his grip gentle yet unyielding. The heat of his touch burned past the coldness of her skin and seemed to sear her entire body. “This stuff works better than any doctor’s needlework, believe me.”
“Yeah, and pigs can fly.”
Her voice was tart, and his gaze narrowed. “I will take you to the hospital if you prefer, but just remember exactly what you’ve seen tonight. If the manarei could assume the shape of a cop, what’s to stop it from assuming the form of a doctor? Or even a nurse?”
She shivered and rubbed her arms. “How can something like that exist? Or a vampire? How is anything like that even possible?”
“There are more strange things that walk the Earth than you or I could ever imagine,” he said, his voice edged with coldness. “What’s your choice?”
Her continuing distrust was annoying him, she realized. And yet wasn’t it natural, given the situation? Surely he could see that. “If my leg gets infected or I bleed to death, I’m going to come back from the dead and make your life a living hell.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Well, I can think of worse things. At least you’d be easy on the eyes.”
Heat crept across her cheeks. “Thanks. I think.”
He smiled. “Don’t move while I’m putting this stuff on. I haven’t got much, and I need some for my wounds, as well.”
She nodded. He began packing the four claw wounds with the mix. Oddly enough, it didn’t hurt. Her skin seemed to go numb the minute the mix touched it, and while the blood didn’t stop, it at least slowed to a trickle. He grabbed a roll of white gauze and quickly bandaged her leg.
“Give me your hand,” he said, when he’d finished.