Morrigan's Cross
Page 46
“No! No!” Dragging Glenna with him, Hoyt broke the circle. The light shrank in on itself, swallowed itself and was gone with a crash like thunder. Through the ringing in his ears he thought he heard shouting.
Cian lay on the floor bleeding, his shirt half burned away and still smoking.
Hoyt dropped to his knees, his fingers reaching for a pulse before he remembered there would be none in any case. “My God, my God, what have I done?”
“He’s badly burned. Get the shirt off of him.” Glenna’s voice was cool as water, and just as calm. “Gently.”
“What happened? What the hell did you do?” King shoved Hoyt aside. “Son of a bitch. Cian. Jesus Christ.”
“We were finishing a spell. He opened the door. There was light. It was no one’s fault. Larkin,” Glenna continued, “help King carry Cian to his room. I’ll be right there. I have things that will help.”
“He’s not dead.” Hoyt said it quietly, staring down at his brother. “It’s not death.”
“It’s not death,” Glenna repeated. “I can help him. I’m a good healer. It’s one of my strengths.”
“I’ll help you.” Moira stepped up, then eased her body toward the wall as King and Larkin lifted Cian. “I have some skill.”
“Good. Go with them. I’ll get my things. Hoyt. I can help him.”
“What did we do?” Hoyt stared helplessly at his hands. Though they still vibrated from the spell, they felt empty and useless. “It was beyond all I’ve done.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” She gripped his hand, pulled him into the tower room.
The circle was burned into the floor, scorched in a pure white ring. In its center glinted nine silver crosses with a circle of red jasper at the joining.
“Nine. Three times three. We’ll think about all this later. I think we should let them stay there for now. I don’t know, let them set.”
Ignoring her, Hoyt crossed the circle, picked one up. “It’s cool.”
“Great. Good.” Her mind was already on Cian, and what would have to be done to help him. She grabbed her case. “I have to get down, do what I can for him. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Hoyt.”
“Twice now. Twice I’ve nearly killed him.”
“This is my doing as much as yours. Are you coming with me?”
“No.”
She started to speak, then shook her head and rushed out.
In the lavish bedchamber, the vampyre lay still on the wide bed. His face was that of an angel. A wicked one, Moira thought. She sent the men out for warm water, for bandages, and mostly to get them out from underfoot.
Now she was alone with the vampyre, who lay on the wide bed. Still as death.
She would feel no heartbeat should she lay her hand on his chest. There would be no breath to fog a glass if she were to hold one to his lips. And he would have no reflection.
She’d read these things, and more.
Yet, he’d saved her life, and she owed him for that.
She moved to the side of the bed, and used what little magic she had to try to cool his burned flesh. Queasiness rose up and was fought down. She’d never seen flesh so scorched. How could anyone—anything—survive such wounds?
His eyes flashed open, searing blue. His hand clamped on her wrist. “What are you doing?”
“You’re hurt.” She hated to hear the tremor in her voice, but her fear of him—alone with him—was so huge. “An accident. I’m waiting for Glenna. We’ll help you. Lie still.” She saw the instant the pain woke in him, and some of her fear died. “Lie quiet. I can cool it a little.”
“Wouldn’t you rather I burn in hell?”
“I don’t know. But I know I don’t want to be the one who sends you. I wouldn’t have shot you last night. I’m ashamed I let you believe I would. I owe you my life.”
“Go away, and we’ll call it quits.”
“Glenna’s coming. Is it cooling a little?”
He simply closed his eyes; and his body trembled. “I need blood.”
“Well, you won’t be having mine. I’m not that grateful.”
She thought his lips curved, just the slightest bit. “Not yours, though I’ll bet it’s tasty.” He had to catch the breath the pain stole. “In the case across the room. The black case with the silver handle. I need blood to—I just need it.”
She left him to open the case, then swallowed revulsion when she saw the clear packs that held dark red liquid.
“Bring it over, toss it and run, whatever you want, but I need it now.”
She brought it quickly, then watched him struggle to sit up, to tear the pack open with his burned hands. Saying nothing, she took the pack, opened it herself, spilling some.
“Sorry.” She gathered her strength, then used an arm to brace him, using her free hand to bring the pack to his lips.
He watched her as he drank, and she made herself look back into his eyes without flinching.
When he’d drained it dry, she laid his head down again before going into the bath for a cloth. With it she wiped his mouth, his chin.
“Small but valiant, are you?”
She heard the edge in his tone, and some return of its strength. “You haven’t a choice because of what you are. I haven’t one because of what I am.” She stepped back when Glenna hurried into the room.
Chapter 11
“Do you want something for the pain?” Glenna coated a thin cloth with balm.
“What have you got?”
“This and that.” She laid the cloth gently on his chest. “I’m so sorry, Cian. We should have locked the door.”
“A locked door wouldn’t have stopped me from coming in, not in my own house. You might try a sign next time, something along the lines... Bugger it!”
“I know, sorry, I know. It’ll be better in a minute. A sign?” she continued, her voice low and soothing as she worked. “Something like: Flammable Magicks. Keep out.”
“Wouldn’t hurt.” He felt the burn not just on the flesh, but down into the bone, as if the fire had burst inside him as well as out. “What the hell were you doing in there?”
“More than either of us were expecting. Moira, coat more cloth, would you. Cian?”
“What?”
Cian lay on the floor bleeding, his shirt half burned away and still smoking.
Hoyt dropped to his knees, his fingers reaching for a pulse before he remembered there would be none in any case. “My God, my God, what have I done?”
“He’s badly burned. Get the shirt off of him.” Glenna’s voice was cool as water, and just as calm. “Gently.”
“What happened? What the hell did you do?” King shoved Hoyt aside. “Son of a bitch. Cian. Jesus Christ.”
“We were finishing a spell. He opened the door. There was light. It was no one’s fault. Larkin,” Glenna continued, “help King carry Cian to his room. I’ll be right there. I have things that will help.”
“He’s not dead.” Hoyt said it quietly, staring down at his brother. “It’s not death.”
“It’s not death,” Glenna repeated. “I can help him. I’m a good healer. It’s one of my strengths.”
“I’ll help you.” Moira stepped up, then eased her body toward the wall as King and Larkin lifted Cian. “I have some skill.”
“Good. Go with them. I’ll get my things. Hoyt. I can help him.”
“What did we do?” Hoyt stared helplessly at his hands. Though they still vibrated from the spell, they felt empty and useless. “It was beyond all I’ve done.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” She gripped his hand, pulled him into the tower room.
The circle was burned into the floor, scorched in a pure white ring. In its center glinted nine silver crosses with a circle of red jasper at the joining.
“Nine. Three times three. We’ll think about all this later. I think we should let them stay there for now. I don’t know, let them set.”
Ignoring her, Hoyt crossed the circle, picked one up. “It’s cool.”
“Great. Good.” Her mind was already on Cian, and what would have to be done to help him. She grabbed her case. “I have to get down, do what I can for him. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Hoyt.”
“Twice now. Twice I’ve nearly killed him.”
“This is my doing as much as yours. Are you coming with me?”
“No.”
She started to speak, then shook her head and rushed out.
In the lavish bedchamber, the vampyre lay still on the wide bed. His face was that of an angel. A wicked one, Moira thought. She sent the men out for warm water, for bandages, and mostly to get them out from underfoot.
Now she was alone with the vampyre, who lay on the wide bed. Still as death.
She would feel no heartbeat should she lay her hand on his chest. There would be no breath to fog a glass if she were to hold one to his lips. And he would have no reflection.
She’d read these things, and more.
Yet, he’d saved her life, and she owed him for that.
She moved to the side of the bed, and used what little magic she had to try to cool his burned flesh. Queasiness rose up and was fought down. She’d never seen flesh so scorched. How could anyone—anything—survive such wounds?
His eyes flashed open, searing blue. His hand clamped on her wrist. “What are you doing?”
“You’re hurt.” She hated to hear the tremor in her voice, but her fear of him—alone with him—was so huge. “An accident. I’m waiting for Glenna. We’ll help you. Lie still.” She saw the instant the pain woke in him, and some of her fear died. “Lie quiet. I can cool it a little.”
“Wouldn’t you rather I burn in hell?”
“I don’t know. But I know I don’t want to be the one who sends you. I wouldn’t have shot you last night. I’m ashamed I let you believe I would. I owe you my life.”
“Go away, and we’ll call it quits.”
“Glenna’s coming. Is it cooling a little?”
He simply closed his eyes; and his body trembled. “I need blood.”
“Well, you won’t be having mine. I’m not that grateful.”
She thought his lips curved, just the slightest bit. “Not yours, though I’ll bet it’s tasty.” He had to catch the breath the pain stole. “In the case across the room. The black case with the silver handle. I need blood to—I just need it.”
She left him to open the case, then swallowed revulsion when she saw the clear packs that held dark red liquid.
“Bring it over, toss it and run, whatever you want, but I need it now.”
She brought it quickly, then watched him struggle to sit up, to tear the pack open with his burned hands. Saying nothing, she took the pack, opened it herself, spilling some.
“Sorry.” She gathered her strength, then used an arm to brace him, using her free hand to bring the pack to his lips.
He watched her as he drank, and she made herself look back into his eyes without flinching.
When he’d drained it dry, she laid his head down again before going into the bath for a cloth. With it she wiped his mouth, his chin.
“Small but valiant, are you?”
She heard the edge in his tone, and some return of its strength. “You haven’t a choice because of what you are. I haven’t one because of what I am.” She stepped back when Glenna hurried into the room.
Chapter 11
“Do you want something for the pain?” Glenna coated a thin cloth with balm.
“What have you got?”
“This and that.” She laid the cloth gently on his chest. “I’m so sorry, Cian. We should have locked the door.”
“A locked door wouldn’t have stopped me from coming in, not in my own house. You might try a sign next time, something along the lines... Bugger it!”
“I know, sorry, I know. It’ll be better in a minute. A sign?” she continued, her voice low and soothing as she worked. “Something like: Flammable Magicks. Keep out.”
“Wouldn’t hurt.” He felt the burn not just on the flesh, but down into the bone, as if the fire had burst inside him as well as out. “What the hell were you doing in there?”
“More than either of us were expecting. Moira, coat more cloth, would you. Cian?”
“What?”
