“Yes.”
Gideon stared at the bed, knife twirling in his hand. “Self-defense. Perfectly reasonable.”
“Yes.”
“He attacked first.”
“Yes.”
“He broke into the house.”
“Yes.”
“Makes sense to me. The reports should reflect the same conclusions.”
He finally glanced at her, a charming grin lighting his features and Miranda could see why other women liked him. “Youbutcheredhim. I’m impressed and a little jealous that it wasn’t me who got to do it, but I guess that idea sailed the moment I joined the Watchmen. Can’t go hacking up enemies beyond recognition, no matter how much they deserved it.”
“It wasn’t intentional. I just…I lost a bit of control.”
He shrugged again, twirling the butter knife around and around with deft motions of his fingers. “It happens. I closed the door on my dying mother’s pleas for help as she succumbed to disease.”
Miranda’s jaw fell open.
“If you knew her, you’d get it. I got my sister out of there before we caught it too and never looked back.”
“I’m…sorry?”
“Don’t be. It was the best day of my life.”
He delivered the information so…casually. Miranda almost found it chilling, except as she watched him, knife twirling and twirling and twirling, faster and faster at the mention of his mother, it was obvious the detachment was more for his own protection than cruelty. She couldn’t imagine hating a mother so much that you were happy they would die. But then, if nothing else, the past couple of weeks had shown her that the world held a lot more misfortune than she understood.
Rachel returned from her tasks after what felt like an eternity, but by the clock only a few minutes.
“I got Pen and Rose questioning the staff. Morgan is on his way to the scene now, but there’s no door to shut, so we’ll have to keep our voices down. Holden should be right behind me with the last of what I need.”
Miranda checked on Devin again, Rachel had wrapped the wound tighter and cleaner, using proper supplies from a kit she thought to bring. His pulse was steady. Slow, but not gone.
“You realize this could be a painful way to go,” Gideon said to the room, but mostly to Miranda.
Rachel moved the food tray and started to set up various bottles and containers.
Miranda ignored him, her eyes fixed on Devin.
“I only skimmed the files on it, but there were some pretty horrific descriptions in there. And there was no indication or pattern to explain what caused the subject to kick the bucket. At the current stage in testing, it was you either lived or it boiled you from the inside,” Gideon continued.
“He’ll be fine. He’ll live through it,” Miranda said.
“Why so sure?”
“Because he has to,” she said, tone final, like she could will it so with enough confidence.
“Ready,” Rachel said as she drew a knife from a hidden sheath on her thigh and held out a hand to Miranda. “Are you?”
A blue liquid simmered in a tea pot, ingredients scattered around the table. She had brought a small cook top, a crystal used to super heat whatever touched it. Some fae element Miranda didn’t know the name of. Nothing about the scene looked medicinal.
Swallowing her trepidation, Miranda sat down and Rachel wrapped a torn strip of cloth tight around her arm. She examined Miranda’s forearm for a moment, then carefully used the tip of her knife to create a tiny gash. Then she twisted the limb so the blood could collect in a measuring cup from the kitchen. Miranda didn’t look at her arm, but kept her eye on Devin. Only taking a breath when she saw the gentle rise of his chest. Each one a few seconds slower than the last.
Once she finished, Rachel bandaged the wound and Miranda cradled her arm to her chest. It didn’t hurt, but the idea felt precious somehow. She was literally giving him the blood from her veins. This was the sort of thing immortals did, not her. Yet, she’d have done it again. She’d have given all of it, if it saved him.
