Page 58 of Dhampira

I cleared my throat. “This will hurt.”

His dark eyes met mine before returning to the balcony. “I’m not wholly unacquainted with pain.”

Moonlight painted him in shades of silver and white. His cheekbones were high, his jaw sharp but just rugged enough to save him from appearing delicate. He was more traditionally handsome than Vander.

And just what was I doing, comparing them? Admiring their looks? They were Rasimir’s henchmen. Monsters no better than the courtiers who laughed when arrows plunged into Alon’s spine.

Except Lorcan saved your life, a voice murmured in my mind. He stopped Rasimir from killing you.

It didn’t matter. Lorcan had stopped Rasimir because the king needed me for something. I was a weapon, nothing more.

“Relax,” I ordered, a hard edge in my voice. I moved both hands to Lorcan’s forearm and slowly raised it so it was parallel to the floor. He tensed and I shifted closer, my thigh pressed to his. “Fighting me will make this harder,” I added. “You have to relax.”

“I’m relaxed,” he said through clenched teeth. Tension thrummed through his arm, but he took a steadying breath and then released it, wincing a little when his shoulders drooped.

“Better,” I said, pressing the heel of my hand to his chest. His breath hitched, and his heart pounded under my palm. The scent of blood and dark spices drifted around my head. My fingers on his arm grazed the rents in his jacket.

“How long is this going to take?” he asked, still gazing at the balcony.

For a moment, I considered dropping his arm and walking away. Finish what you start, my mother’s voice whispered in my head. Biting my tongue, I tightened my grip on his arm and began to pull. Pressing my opposite hand into his chest, I drew his injured arm away from his body in one smooth, continuous motion.

He hissed through his teeth. His chest tightened under my hand, and a growl rumbled in his throat.

The joint popped into place with a loud thunk.

Lorcan jerked a startled gaze to mine.

“Better?” I asked, releasing him and stepping back.

He lifted his arm and flexed his fingers. Then he pressed his good hand to his shoulder. “Yes,” he said. “It’s…good.” He paused, with something that might have been gratitude stirring in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Our gazes held. Silence spooled between us. Lorcan stood, cloth rustling as he gave his shoulder an experimental shrug.

“You shouldn’t move it for a while,” I said. “The joint can slip back out of place.”

He lowered his hand. “I’m a vampire.”

“So you’ll heal quickly,” I said, “but you’re not invincible.”

He narrowed his eyes, and for a moment, it seemed like he’d argue. Instead, he tugged down his jacket. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Moonlight slanted between us in long shafts. More silence stretched, and I motioned to the slashes in his sleeve.

“Those aren’t knife wounds.”

His expression instantly grew shuttered. He turned and headed for the door.

“What made them?” I asked, following.

No response.

Irritation rose. “Were you attacked by a werewolf?”

Nothing. His back was ramrod straight as he neared the door.

“You killed him,” I said, my irritation turning to disgust. “More blood and stolen power on your hands.”