“Cavern’s clear. Here. Give me a look at it,” he says, the fine spray of mist from the waterfall dampening the hair around his face.
“I’m fine.” Far from it, to be honest. Pain radiates through me like an old friend, the twisting nausea in my stomach making me want to heave as I clutch my arm close.Dislocated. The shoulder has to be dislocated, but my head is spinning so badly I don’t know if I can do what needs to be done. I just want to be sick…
“Here.” Bael reaches for my shoulder.
I wrench back instinctively and cry out.
He squats, waiting for me to catch my panting breath. “I just want to look at it. I’m fairly certain you’ve dislocated the shoulder.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Lioness,” he growls under his breath, as if even his patience is wearing thin. “You’ve pissed off Rhykus’ entire crew as well as the Red Guard. You’re either going to have to trust me or you’re going to die. So, what’s it going to be? Me? Or them?”
He’s right, curse it. I’m being stupid. But it’s one thing to say, “I trust you.” Quite another to reluctantly tilt my face out of the way, allowing him access.
He hasn’t hurt me.
Yet.
It’s thatyetthat makes my inner self wary. Because there’s always a lie in the words, always a knife in the back, always a twist to the contract.
“We can’t trust anyone,” Aylin whispered, the day she led me from the ashen remains of our plague-ridden village.
I force myself to still, voice hoarse. “Do it.”
His fingers gently probe my shoulder before he withdraws. “Here. Bite down on my belt and I’ll set it for you.”
“Any excuse to take your clothes off,” I manage to growl.
It wins me a faint smile from him as he whips his belt through its loops, curling it over and offering it for me. I take it, but glare at him determined to show no further weakness.
He holds a small vial up. Inside, glows several pale, almost translucent blue flower petals. They drift through the viscous liquid inside the vial like dancing snowflakes. “If you put one of these petals on your tongue, it will enhance your healing. The shoulder will be fine by tomorrow morning.”
I arch a brow.
“So distrustful,” he admonishes, popping the cork and capturing one of the petals on his finger. Reaching up, he opens his mouth and lets the petal dissolve on his tongue. It’s gone in an instant. “Since I know you’re not going to put anything in your mouth that I haven’t first tasted.”
It’s a little disconcerting to realize how easily he reads me. I eye the bottle. The pain is nearly intolerable, and even if he sets the shoulder, I’ll be bruised and tender for days, possibly weeks. I can’t fight. Not like this. “Do it.”
Capturing another petal, he holds it out to me. I lick the petal from his finger, tongue rasping over his callused finger.
It’s honey sweet, but the second it bursts on my tongue, a current of power runs through me.
Bael stares at me for a long, slow, heated second. And then his face hardens. He reaches for the belt, holding it to my lips. “Bite down on this.”
“All these dirty promises,” I manage to grind out, then I sink my teeth into the leather glaring at him through eyes glassy with tears.
“I know.” The corners of his mouth kick up. “You can murder me after all is said and done. Ready? On the count of three… One. Two?—”
I bite down on a scream as he wrenches my shoulder back into its socket, the world narrowing in around me as pain obliterates my vision.
“Easy, now,” Bael whispers, and I start to come back to myself, curled in his arms and panting for breath.
My fingers are locked in his tunic so tightly, I’m surprised I haven’t managed to rip it off him. The pain is gone, leaving me lightheaded and trembling like a newborn deer.
Gods.
Bael’s hand slides through my hair, curling around the base of my skull. His forehead presses against mine, and a strange warmth spreads throughout me. My shoulder tingles. “Can you feel the flower working?”
