He pulls back once the dust settles, and I see him notice. See his eyes darken as he realizes I'm breathing too fast and not from fear. His hand comes up, then drops.
"Later," he says roughly.
"Later what?"
"Everything."
Oh.
We find Grimm holding the training room with the newer guild members. He's got them arranged in defensive positions, very professional, except two are definitely crying and one's throwing up in the corner. Poor thing. Probably motion sickness from all the water magic. Or regular sickness from all the violence.
"Status?" Ruvan asks.
"Seventeen down on our side. More injured." Grimm glances at me. "Could use healing if—"
"Of course." I'm already moving, checking the worst injuries first. Stab wound on Davis (not fatal but needs attention), broken ribs on someone I don't know (painful but manageable), various cuts and bruises and one dislocated shoulder that pops back in with a sound that makes everyone wince.
My magic flows easier each time. Like it's happy to finally be used properly instead of hidden. Each person I touch looks at me with something between awe and fear.
"Thank you," Davis manages. "I thought— when you made soup, I didn't know—"
"Nobody knew. That was the point." I move to the next injured. "Though clearly that's not working anymore."
Ruvan's coordinating defense, sending people to different positions, but I catch him watching me. Not suspicious watching. Something else. Something that makes heat curl in my stomach despite the entirely inappropriate circumstances.
"Incoming!" Someone shouts from the doorway.
More water crashes through. More fighters. More violence. And this time I have a front row seat to watch Ruvan work.
He doesn't just fight. He dominates. Every movement calculated for maximum damage with minimum effort. Shadows responding to thought, becoming weapons, shields, transportation. Five attackers become four become none in the space of heartbeats.
I should be horrified. I am horrified. But I'm also—
"Behind you!" Finn yells.
I turn in time to see water rushing at my face. Not regular water – this is compressed, shaped into something solid. It makes this hissing sound as it moves. Pretty color though – that deep blue-green you only see in very deep water or very expensive paint.
No time to dodge. But the shadows are already there, forming this solid wall between me and drowning. They feel cold as they pass by my skin, protective cold.
Ruvan appears from nothing – I really need to ask how he does that without getting motion sick – his hand pressing the attacker's face into stone. There's resistance at first, water trying to cushion the impact, but shadows are persistent. The sound when the man's nose breaks is very specific. Wet crunch. Like celery but meatier.
He turns to check on me, still holding the probably-dead Tide Runner by the face, and I have the wildly inappropriate urge to grab his face and kiss him senseless. Which would be messy. There's blood on his hands. And water everywhere. Very slippery conditions for kissing.
"Stop looking at me like that," he says quietly.
"Like what?"
"Like you want me to do it again."
"I—" Can't deny it. Won't lie. "Maybe I do."
His eyes go dark. Not shadow dark. The other kind. "You're insane."
"Probably. But I'm also honest."
"Boss!" Gray Streak appears in the doorway, favoring his left side and definitely needing dry socks. Those are soaked through. "They're pulling back!"
The sounds of fighting are getting quieter. Less splashing, more groaning. Everyone's too tired to keep trying to kill each other.
