Page 115 of Dark Lover

His eyes flickered. “He won’t let me…die.”

Sam wet her lips to tell him that he didn’t know that. But then she recalled that during his years of captivity, they kept him alive. Her stomach churned. Ian could not suffer again, that way. “You’re bleeding,” she said stupidly.

“I’m almost…immortal. I can lose a little…blood.”

She decided not to contradict him. He was losing pints of blood.

“Are ye hurt?” he rasped, meeting her gaze.

“You’re worried about me?”

“Why would I…worry? Yer a tough…girl.”

Sam felt tears roll down her cheek.

He stared at her. “Yer crying.”

“Shit,” she said. She couldn’t wipe the tears away. “My eyes are burning,” she lied. “Maybe from whatever chemicals are in the air here.”

His stare became oddly intense. “Are ye crying…because of me?”

“You’re a selfish jerk. Why would I cry over you? Besides, I don’t cry. Not ever.”

He seemed to accept that. His lashes fanned out on his deathly white cheeks as his eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” Sam cried, alarmed. He was so weak!

It was a moment before he answered. “I’m not…dying. Be quiet.”

She watched him and saw the strain on his face increase. She couldn’t stand it. She thought she was starting to feel his pain, but then, her heart was in unbearable anguish. If they weren’t rescued, he was going to die. She did not have to be a genius to know it.

“Ian,” she whispered, carefully wiggling down so she was lying on her side. She spooned against him. As most of her body made contact with his—she was careful to avoid the head of the pike—she started to cry again.

What was wrong with her?

Images flashed, of the monk on that tower laughing down at them, of Ian impaled against the wall.

More images came, of her mother. As clearly as if it were happening in the moment, she saw her being raped. When she began to strike the demon with a stick of wood, he had thrown her aside, getting up and laughing at her before walking away.

She had seen her mother raped. She was stunned, paralyzed.

Ian cried out.

She returned to the present. “What is it? Am I hurting you?” Had she pushed on him too hard by mistake? Even brushing that pike would cause acute pain.

Breathing hard, he said, “Try the cuffs.”

She understood. Sam moved her arms and the cuffs fell free. Instantly she knelt over him, removing her T-shirt and ripping it in two. The wound at his back wasn’t bleeding, and she pressed half of her shirt to his chest.

He gasped and said, “Remove the pike.”

Now was not a good time for a debate, but she said, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“My father is a Master. I heal quickly. Remove it.”

Sam hesitated, whipped off her belt and said, “The moment I do, do not move. I’m going to use my belt to keep pressure on both wounds.”

“Give me the belt,” he said.