“Sorry.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry? Henrik frowned. For what? “There is no need—”
“Is everyone all right?” She flinched as Andrei pulled on the arrow again. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. But the spell, it . . . I had no idea it would blow out like that. I would never have . . .”
“’Tis all right,” he said as she trailed off. “We’re all in one piece.”
Well, except for her.
But even as Henrik lamented the fact, he left regret in his wake. No sense dwelling on the past. He couldn’t go back and change it. The debacle was where it belonged . . . behind him. Now he must deal in the present. Move forward. Give Cosmina what she needed while he found an alternative route out of White Temple.
A good plan. Particularly since he could still hear them out there.
Tilting his head, Henrik listened harder. Aye, most definitely. He could actually hear the enemy. Strange in more ways than one. By rights—and all human standards—he shouldn’t be able to perceive anything outside the sacred chamber. The walls were too thick and the door too solid. Somehow, though, he heard everything. The soft scrape of multiple boot treads on the tiled floor. The quiet draw of a knife being unsheathed. The almost imperceptible murmur of Al Pacii warriors searching for a way inside.
Each minute noise wound him a notch tighter. He glanced at his apprentice. “Let go, Shay. I can handle her from here.”
Quick to comprehend, Shay’s focus sharpened. “What do you need?”
“Check the walls for hidden doors. Find another way out.”
“Halál’s still out there?”
Henrik nodded.
“Can you hear them?” Surprise in his expression, Shay pushed to his feet. Turning toward the megaliths ringing the dais, eyes skimming over stone walls, he strode toward the far side of the chamber.
“Clear as a bell.”
“Impressive,” Andrei said, his attention still on Cosmina and the arrow. “But then, you’ve always been a beautiful predator. Senses far too keen.”
True enough. And even more so now. As much as he hated to admit it, magic upped the ante—along with his prowess. “Andrei, how close—”
“Done.”
With a flick, Andrei tossed the broken arrow shaft aside. As it clattered across the stone floor, his comrade pivoted toward the healing kit on the floor beside him. Digging inside, he tossed a cloth over his shoulder. Henrik caught it in midair and, releasing Cosmina’s wrist, pressed the wad of linen to her wound. She winced. A puff of air escaped her. And Henrik’s heart sank as Andrei turned back toward him with a bone needle and thread in his hands. Intense blue eyes met his over the top of her head.
“Get it done, Andrei.”
Picking up a vial of clear liquid, his friend flicked at its top. The stopper popped off the glass.
“Wait,” Cosmina said, hearing the cork lid bounce on the floor. “Give me a—”
“No time.”
Hating the idea, but knowing it was necessary, Henrik tugged her upright. She settled on the edge of the dais, then swayed, drifting backward. With a gentle shift, he steadied her, but . . . goddamn it. Too late. The movement jarred her. She gagged in reaction. Empathy tugged on his heartstrings. Henrik ignored the pull. Feeling sorry for her wouldn’t help. Keeping her mind busy and her moving, however? Aye, that just might. On his knees in front of her, Henrik cupped her nape and raised her chin, forcing her to sit up straight.
“Please don’t. I cannot—”
“Aye, you can,” he said, interrupting again. “It needs doing, Cosmina. Andrei will be gentle.”
She shook her head. “No more.”
He held firm. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
The hard edge in his voice made her jump. A furrow between her brows, she turned her face away, refusing to obey. Henrik’s mouth curved. Stubborn little spitfire. Even injured, she was difficult to handle. Why he enjoyed that about her, he didn’t know. Mayhap he was a masochist. Mayhap he got off provoking redheaded hellions. Mayhap he’d lost his mind. Who knew? But whatever the case, he refused to back down. Or allow her to wallow. She needed a distraction—a target, someone to be angry at while Andrei saw to her wound. Like it or nay, he would give her one. Poke. Prod. Put a bull’s-eye on his own back in order to give her what she needed to get through the pain.
“Come, mica vrăjitoare,” he said, using the nickname he knew she hated to get a rise out of her. “Don’t be a weakling—look at me.”
His insult pushed her brows together. “Don’t c-call me that.”
“Then open your eyes.”
“Bonehead.”
“Hellion.”
She huffed. “I want my knives.”
“Why?”
“So I can stab you with one.”
He bit down on a grin. “I’ll give you one free shot, but only if you listen to me. Now . . . open.”
She winced as Andrei set to work, and his heart went into a free fall. Taking a deep breath, Henrik swallowed another apology and raised his free hand. His fingertips touched her skin. She sighed. He drew a circle on her temple, encouraging her to give him what he wanted. A moment later, she complied. Spiked by tears, her eyelashes fluttered, then rose, and—
Henrik frowned. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Pressing his thumb to the corner of her eye, he applied gentle pressure, asking her to open wider. She obeyed. He sucked in a quick breath. Christ. Had he said wrong? Well, add bizarre to the mix. Throw in a dash of startling too, because—Jesus. Her eyes were . . . were—hell, how to explain? Almost colorless, the green of her irises had faded, leaving naught but contracted pupils in a sea of white.
Surprise struck, wiping his mental map clean.
Henrik shook his head. “Cosmina . . .”
“I know. It’s bad this time,” she said, panic in her voice. Her hands trembled as she reached out, looking for something solid to hold on to. Without hesitation, Henrik became her anchor, and shifting closer, gripped her forearms. Blood slickened his palm, making his fingers slide on her skin. “I cannot see anything. I cannot . . .”
“What do you mean . . . this time?”
“I hate this.” Following his voice, she grabbed a fistful of his cloak. “I hate it.”
“’Tis all right,” he said, trying to soothe her. But goddamn, it was hard not to become distracted. The lack of color in her eyes surpassed surprising. ’Twas downright strange—magic born . . . something he never liked to dabble in. But as she quivered, each breath coming hard and fast, curiosity took hold. “Has this happened before—the blindness?”
Her chin dipped, relaying her answer.
“How many times?”
“Twice.” Shielding her gaze with her lashes, she turned her face away.
Cupping her cheek, he brought her back toward him. Andrei drew another stitch. As she flinched, Henrik smoothed his thumb over her jaw, soothing her with gentle strokes. Back and forth. Over and over. Past experience had taught him well. Women liked to be caressed. Could be soothed with tenderness and a soft touch. He hoped the hellion in his arms would react the same way. He needed to know everything about her. All the finite details. Every aspect of her life along with what had brought her to the brink.
“Explain, Cosmina.”
“It’s complicated,” she said, hedging to avoid the truth.
The dodge was a good one. Most men would’ve taken the easy way out and headed in the other direction. Not him. Curiosity was a powerful thing. Now he wanted to know. “Humor me.”