Shaky laughter escaped her.
He grasped her wrist and pressed her palm against his warm, bare chest, the slow thudding of his heart soothing her.
“See?” he said huskily. “I’m okay…well, better than when I awakened on that mountain.”
His arms banded around her, and he drew her closer. Her throat tight, she slipped her hands around his neck and held him. He grunted, the pained sound gutting her.
“Oh, God!” She jerked back, palms smeared with blood. “I’m so sorry, your wounds!” She wiped them on her jeans, shot to her feet, grabbed the jar from the bedside table, and scrambled on the bed to access his back?—
And felt as if she’d been punched in the chest.
Though the bleeding had stopped and the jagged wounds had closed to some extent, his skin appeared inflamed. Thick red scabs ran down both sides of his shoulder blades, the lesions bumpy and raw over his previously broken bones.
With gentle fingers, she stroked the bloodied, swollen skin. She opened the jar, and a mossy fragrance flooded the room. She scooped two fingerfuls of the paste and carefully smoothed it along his wounds.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, lightly applying more ointment. “I wanted you so much, so badly with me, I never thought, never realized it would be this devastating for you.” She sniffled and blinked away her tears. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have let you go through with it.”
“Nia, you didn’t know what I planned to do.”
“I know, but I hate seeing you suffer like this.” She continued smoothing the salve over the lesions. But the tension within her grew heavier. Even her head felt as if it weighed a ton. Prickles swamped her, and her powers roiled.
Teeth gritted, she tried to bolt her mind shields. She didn’t want to accidentally take what lingering powers he might still possess.
Her gaze settled on his ruined, wingless back, and she carefully massaged the swollen skin, using the salve for an easier glide.
His head lowered as if her touch soothed, and Nia let her energy flow into him, wanting to ease him…
“That feels good.” He shuddered, and a lightness seeped through her, surprising her as the suppressing weight lifted from her.
As long as it helped him, it was the only thing that mattered.
“Why would the seraphs want you dead when you chose to fall?” she asked him, continuing to gently massage the inflamed skin.
“I am old, Nia, and as a Power, I knew better. But like the Watchers, I broke a sacrosanct oath. I made love to you while still divine. Even though I survived the fall from grace, I had to die. I’m not surprised they came after me. Death was my punishment.”
Mouth tight, she screwed on the jar’s lid and climbed off the bed. “I won’t stand for it.”
She set the tub down, then grabbed the brown bottle and opened it. The bile-churning odor of decaying roots permeated the air.
His gaze snapped up, and he eyed it suspiciously. “That doesn’t smell good.”
“I know, but Michael said it would help.”
With a sigh, he took the bottle and gulped some?—
“Hell.” He thrust it back at her.
At his disgusted look, a smile tugged at her mouth. She recapped and set the potion on the bedside table. “I won’t be long. I need to get a damp towel.”
Nia glanced around her, finally noticing the enormous bedroom with its high vaulted ceilings and granite stone walls. Tall windows flanked a huge fireplace, where a fire crackled and snapped, warming the room. Twin squat armchairs took up space on a lush carpet in front of the hearth.
On the adjacent wall were two doors. One remained open, showing an elegant living room.
She hurried to the shut one on the left. It opened into a dressing room with a sea of shelves, closets, and a padded bench in the middle. A doorway at the other end revealed an elegant light gray and navy bathroom with a shower stall and a clawfoot tub near the window with gold and ivory trim.
She dampened a navy towel in the basin and hurried back, only to find Lore had collapsed face-down on the bed.
Her heart hammering, she sprinted to the bed, dropped the towel, and shook his arm. “Lore?”
