Not in imminent danger of collapsing, at least. Fi groanedto her feet and pressed a current to the water heater. Opened the spigot.
Antal could have let Tyvo eat her. She already owed him her life, spared upon his altar. But sparing a life wasn’t the same as saving one, risking himself the way he did.
Keeping her barbs up proved too exhausting. For a moment, Fi let slip her defensive bristle, kneeling with weary shoulders and weary knees at Antal’s side, fumbling to peel off the bloody remnants of his shirt. He winced as she unstuck ruined fabric from ruined skin, his torso gouged with claw marks that only looked less severe when compared to the mess of his throat.
“Do daeyari… feel pain?” Fi asked.
“Fuck!” Antal spat as she pulled a strip of shirt off his shoulder. “Oyzen yzri, kasek aza—”
“All right, sorry! I’ll try not to…” She freed his other shoulder with less cursing, hands brushing his bare chest. Down his heaving ribs. Down the taut muscles of his abdomen.
Fi halted at his trousers. Her fingers hooked the fabric, settling warm against his waist.
Uncertain.
She shouldn’t be. Medical care was more pressing than propriety, but her bravado faltered for a creature with claws.
“So modest.”
Antal’s voice scraped like gravel. His cheek was flayed where Tyvo’s antler had struck, his eye a socket of Void.
“I can assure you,” Fi said. “I’m not.” Only well-warranted caution around daeyari. Their brush with death, responsible for the heat flushing her cheeks.
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Do you want me to take your pants off or not, daeyari?”
When Fi let her guard down, the back-and-forth came easier. No barbs. Fewer teeth.
She tensed when Antal touched her shoulder, not claws, but knuckles pressing her coat, the weapons on his fingers curled away. Fi’s blood-spattered thoughts puzzled a moment before registering the non-threatening intent of the gesture. A nudge urged her away. His remaining iris dimmed nearly black, drained of energy.
Fi gave him space to finish undressing.
With rustling fabric behind her, she inspected her slashed stomach. Not too deep, thanks to… Fi didn’t want tothinkof her shredded silviamesh. A loss to mourn later. She splayed fingers over flesh and pulled energy from the muscles of her core, teeth gritted as she cauterized. A finer current she Shaped from trembling biceps, weaving silver-light stitches to sew the gashes closed. She finished with numbing twilight sorel ointment and a slim energy chip held against the wound with gauze, fuel to speed the healing.
A splash sounded from the bathtub.
Then, silence.
“Antal?”
She rushed over and plunged her arms into scalding water, grabbing the daeyari’s antlers to haul him to the surface. He emerged with a wretched cough, water thrashing as his tail settled.
So much for modesty. Fi averted her gaze as Antal sank against the tub, a scowl her only protest at having to prevent an immortal fromdrowninghimself, of all things. Her eyes did wander, though not to anything scandalous. She couldn’t look away from the cavern of his throat.
“You healed before,” Fi said, only a little frantic. “Why aren’t you healing now?”
Antal spoke between gasps. “Needs… too much energy… will… take time.”
“Are you sure? I’ve never heard a story about a daeyari injured like this.”
“Why the fuck would we let mortals tell stories about how to hurt us?”
Fi stared at him. She stared at this creature she used to understand in such vicious simplicity, opening before her like a splay of viscera. Valuable, to know her enemies could bleed, could die.
But what was she supposed to do with the knowledge of how his voice cracked when he felt pain?
Of how he’d reached forherbefore saving himself?
