Devony held her breath and watched, confused and curious. She tried to crane for a better view, but all she could make out was the big Breed male leaning over Fish, his hands holding steady over the wound.
After a moment, she heard the soft rattle of a spent round clatter onto the floor. Then the pungent scent of fresh, flowing blood began to fade. Fish’s panting slowed, his pain and fear dissipating into a muted moan.
“Holy shit.” It was Cruz who spoke first, amazement in his eyes as he stared down at the two men. “You healed him.”
Now that the flow of red cells had dried up, Devony’s thirst abated. Her fangs no longer filled her mouth. Her vision, still inhumanly sharp, no longer burned like embers. She got up from the table and drifted over to the rest of the group.
“I’m okay,” Fish gasped. He ran his hands over his sticky, stained midsection, searching for the wound. It was gone. Not a trace of it on his pale white skin. He let out a whoop. “Son of a bitch, I’m really okay!”
The Breed male rose from his crouch beside him while Ocho and Axel helped Fish up from the floor, all of them marveling at what they’d just witnessed.
Cruz nodded, clearly awed by what he’d seen. “That was . . . impressive.”
“I can’t believe it,” Fish murmured, still shell-shocked. He stared at the Breed male as if he were looking into the face of a saint. “I was dying, I know I was. Another minute or so, and I—” He shook his head on a quiet curse. “What you did is a miracle. You fucking saved my life. Why?”
“Because I could, I guess.”
Fish blew out a sigh. “Well, I don’t care why you did it, man. I owe you. And I make good on my debts. I’m gonna repay this somehow, you have my word.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Rafe shrugged off the promise like pulling someone out of the clutches of death was something he did every day.
With Fish recovered, Ocho and Axel called for a fresh round of drinks for their resurrected comrade. While the men carried on with one another, the Breed male’s gaze swung away from them to settle on Devony.
Shrewd aquamarine eyes studied her beneath the tousled waves of his dark honey-blond hair. She had never been inspired to call a man beautiful before. Especially not a dangerous looking Breed male who stood six-and-a-half feet tall and whose immense body was wrapped in heavy muscle and a low-simmering menace.
But this male was beautiful. His handsome face carved in lean angles, his squared jaw bristled with the thick shadow of a beard. His lips were decadently lush, almost too tender-looking on a man. But that was where the softness of his face ended.
Those questioning blue eyes held a trace of disdain. It was the same edge of couched contempt she felt radiating off him from the moment he first walked into Asylum tonight and spotted Cruz and the rest of them at the back of the tavern.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one with something to hide.
“Feeling better?” His deep voice rolled over her senses like a caress. “You still look a little green, if you ask me.”
The uninvited observation drew the attention of Cruz and the others. They all stared at her now. Expectant, waiting to see how she would respond.
Alarm shot into her veins. For one jolting heartbeat, she worried that the Breed male could see through her. That he might be able to tell she wasn’t quite what she seemed.
But a surreptitious flick of her tongue along the edge of her teeth assured her that her fangs had receded completely. And her vision held no trace of amber anymore.
To him and the other men looking at her, there was nothing to give her away.
“I didn’t ask you,” she muttered tightly. “And how I feel is no concern of yours.”
She gave him her back for a moment and finished the shot of whisky she’d been nursing most of the night. Being a daywalker, her uncommon genetics allowed her to consume human food and drink. Right now, with the heat of his eyes still boring into her from behind, she was eager to look as commonly human as possible.
What she really wanted was to get the hell out of Asylum and as far away from this male as she could.
From her peripheral, she watched with a growing sense of concern as the exchange between the men continued, becoming chummier and more relaxed by the minute. It wasn’t good. Passing herself off as human with Cruz and his gang took some effort, but it would be nearly impossible to hide what she was for long from another member of the Breed.
The fact that he’d been trained as an Order warrior only made her dread—and her suspicion—intensify.
The last thing she needed was him hanging around the group any more than he already had tonight. She wanted him gone, and the sooner the better.
Setting the glass down on the table, she folded her arms over her breasts and eyed the Breed male with a mistrust she hoped would be picked up by her comrades. “Healing seems like an ironic skill for one of your kind.”
Her comment halted the conversation as effectively as another round of gunfire.
“One of my kind?” he asked, those sharp eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “You mean Breed?”
