injury.
Ciarran narrowed his eyes but offered no argument.
Stepping between them, Darqun frowned, his gaze sliding first to Dain's shredded forearm, then to his gouged chest. "You good, my man? That looks brutal."
"Flesh wound." Dain grabbed a hunk of savaged muscle, shoved it back in place, and summoned just enough of his magic to hold the mess together. "I'm good."
Light shimmered from his fingertips, and he willed the wound to heal. Sorcerers were capable of this partial recovery, of knitting skin and muscle and bone. But full recovery still took a day or two, depending on the severity of the damage, and the pain remained until the wound fully healed.
"By the way"—Darqun glanced about—"where is Dr. Cairn?"
"Locked in the SUV." At their looks of incredulity, Dain spread his arms, palms up, a gesture of innocence. He'd been right to lock her in. It had been his best option.
There it was again, everything coming down to options. Choices.
"It's warded and bulletproof. It seemed the safest place." And he was damn well going to keep her safe.
"Which raises the issue…" Darqun looked back and forth between the other two. "What do we do with her now? She can't stay here"—he glanced at the flaming house, the billowing smoke contained within the invisible perimeter that Ciarran had conjured rising in a writhing, twisting column—"not that there's much of here left."
"I need her." Two sets of eyes nailed Dain with blatant disbelief.
He gave a harsh grunt of laughter. "For the bones. We didn't even have time to begin the investigation process, let alone finish it. I don't know anything new about the bone I believe is from the Solitary, and more importantly, nothing about the gris-gris bags. Not a damn thing."
A siren wailed in the distance. They were out of time. Unless they wanted to do some major explaining to the arson investigation squad, a change of venue was in order.
"We could leave her here for the EMTs. Let them check her out. Hook up with her later," Darqun suggested. "That'd probably be best."
Dain felt his whole body tense, his muscles prime themselves for battle. No . The word snarled through him, and he felt the denial soul-deep. There could still be hybrids hanging about, or demons. She wasn't safe here.
"She comes with us." For the second time, the other two sorcerers slammed him with quizzical stares, and Dain realized he'd barked the words more than spoken them. "I didn't get the answers we came for. I still need her expertise," he finished, milder.
Plausible, though it wasn't the whole truth.
He couldn't pin down the whole truth. What was it with him and this possessive urge to hold close to Vivien, to touch her, stroke his hand along her skin, to—
Shoving his fingers through his hair, he spun and paced off a distance. He was frigging losing it.
"Uh, yeah." Darqun cleared his throat. "Her expertise . You said that already."
Dain turned back, barely held himself from lunging. Almost growled at him.
"Head to my place," Ciarran suggested, stepping between the two men.
Dain figured his comrades sensed his tension. Probably wondered about it. Only, he couldn't give an explanation, because he had no clue what was winding him up so tight.
"Dr. Cairn can stay with Clea and me until we figure this out," Ciarran offered.
A logical suggestion, and a surprising one, given Ciarran's reclusive nature. But the thought of being parted from Vivien made Dain's gut clench. Thick, choking fury pounded through him. He recognized that it was unreasonable but couldn't seem to drag it under control.
"No." Slow breaths didn't calm him. "No. She stays with me."
"But—"
"She fucking doesn't leave my side. Got it?" he snarled, ramped up all over again.
He glared at them, his pulse pounding in his ears, the crack and roar of the fire swirling through the air, through his blood.
"Build a wall," Ciarran said quietly, raising his hands, palms forward. "Build a wall, Dain, in your mind. Hold it back, whatever
Ciarran narrowed his eyes but offered no argument.
Stepping between them, Darqun frowned, his gaze sliding first to Dain's shredded forearm, then to his gouged chest. "You good, my man? That looks brutal."
"Flesh wound." Dain grabbed a hunk of savaged muscle, shoved it back in place, and summoned just enough of his magic to hold the mess together. "I'm good."
Light shimmered from his fingertips, and he willed the wound to heal. Sorcerers were capable of this partial recovery, of knitting skin and muscle and bone. But full recovery still took a day or two, depending on the severity of the damage, and the pain remained until the wound fully healed.
"By the way"—Darqun glanced about—"where is Dr. Cairn?"
"Locked in the SUV." At their looks of incredulity, Dain spread his arms, palms up, a gesture of innocence. He'd been right to lock her in. It had been his best option.
There it was again, everything coming down to options. Choices.
"It's warded and bulletproof. It seemed the safest place." And he was damn well going to keep her safe.
"Which raises the issue…" Darqun looked back and forth between the other two. "What do we do with her now? She can't stay here"—he glanced at the flaming house, the billowing smoke contained within the invisible perimeter that Ciarran had conjured rising in a writhing, twisting column—"not that there's much of here left."
"I need her." Two sets of eyes nailed Dain with blatant disbelief.
He gave a harsh grunt of laughter. "For the bones. We didn't even have time to begin the investigation process, let alone finish it. I don't know anything new about the bone I believe is from the Solitary, and more importantly, nothing about the gris-gris bags. Not a damn thing."
A siren wailed in the distance. They were out of time. Unless they wanted to do some major explaining to the arson investigation squad, a change of venue was in order.
"We could leave her here for the EMTs. Let them check her out. Hook up with her later," Darqun suggested. "That'd probably be best."
Dain felt his whole body tense, his muscles prime themselves for battle. No . The word snarled through him, and he felt the denial soul-deep. There could still be hybrids hanging about, or demons. She wasn't safe here.
"She comes with us." For the second time, the other two sorcerers slammed him with quizzical stares, and Dain realized he'd barked the words more than spoken them. "I didn't get the answers we came for. I still need her expertise," he finished, milder.
Plausible, though it wasn't the whole truth.
He couldn't pin down the whole truth. What was it with him and this possessive urge to hold close to Vivien, to touch her, stroke his hand along her skin, to—
Shoving his fingers through his hair, he spun and paced off a distance. He was frigging losing it.
"Uh, yeah." Darqun cleared his throat. "Her expertise . You said that already."
Dain turned back, barely held himself from lunging. Almost growled at him.
"Head to my place," Ciarran suggested, stepping between the two men.
Dain figured his comrades sensed his tension. Probably wondered about it. Only, he couldn't give an explanation, because he had no clue what was winding him up so tight.
"Dr. Cairn can stay with Clea and me until we figure this out," Ciarran offered.
A logical suggestion, and a surprising one, given Ciarran's reclusive nature. But the thought of being parted from Vivien made Dain's gut clench. Thick, choking fury pounded through him. He recognized that it was unreasonable but couldn't seem to drag it under control.
"No." Slow breaths didn't calm him. "No. She stays with me."
"But—"
"She fucking doesn't leave my side. Got it?" he snarled, ramped up all over again.
He glared at them, his pulse pounding in his ears, the crack and roar of the fire swirling through the air, through his blood.
"Build a wall," Ciarran said quietly, raising his hands, palms forward. "Build a wall, Dain, in your mind. Hold it back, whatever
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