The battle.
His stomach dropped as scene after scene flashed through his mind, distorted and shadowed. But he remembered most of it. Enough to know true horror. His entire body went rigid as he stared down at Maggie.
I did that. I hurt her. Oh sweet Christ!
His worst fears had come to pass. He dropped helplessly to his knees beside Mikhail. Gideon lifted a hand to smooth her tangled hair from her brow, only to stop at the last moment, when he remembered he couldn’t touch her anyway. Why did he constantly forget himself with her? Why, when he had no problem remembering with Carly or Kyanna, did he constantly torture himself trying in vain to touch the one, the only woman he wanted above all else? Then again, maybe that was exactly why.
He’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted Maggie.
But he had touched her, he remembered now. Her soft lush lips under his thumb. Torment.
And the fragile bones of her wrist, snapping in his beefy fist. Torture.
Clenching those cursed fists in his hands, he turned his anguished eyes to Mikhail. “How bad?”
“Concussion. Broken ribs. Collapsed lung. Lost a lot of blood,” Mikhail hissed between clenched teeth, his attention never leaving his patient.
Gideon could feel the waves of power rolling off Mikhail as he worked tirelessly to heal her.
“Will she be all right?”
Mikhail gave one curt nod, but refused to comment further. Time passed so slowly. Five minutes, five decades, Gideon couldn’t tell. At last, Mikhail sucked in a labored breath, and drew his hands from Maggie’s chest. His expression tight, his lips pinched together, his own chest hitching, Mikhail reached for her wrist. With a ruthless snap, he reset the bone, and then clenched both hands around the broken joint.
Gideon flinched, but he refused to leave her side. He’d done this. He’d inflicted these grievous injuries upon his delicate, breakable Halfling. He had no right to seek easement from her suffering. Mikhail released her wrist. He sat back for a moment and drew another deep breath. Gideon thought he spied bruises forming over Mikhail’s own wrist, but the demon gave a twitch of the sleeve of his leather jacket, and the shadow was swiftly covered. Another bracing breath and Mikhail reached up once more, moving his hands over her, seeking out and healing injury after injury.
Once Maggie was resting comfortably, once Gideon felt as if he’d been tortured by the most skilled the Spanish Inquisition had to offer, Mikhail sat back on his haunches. Gideon stared at Mikhail. Gratitude was too feeble an emotion for what he felt right now for his comrade.
And he understood far more about Mikhail than he had before, even after all this time. He’d never been this close before while Mikhail had used his powers to heal another. Mikhail had never allowed it. In the same room, yes. But never this close. And now Gideon understood why.
Mikhail hadn’t just healed Maggie’s wounds. He had taken those wounds into himself, absorbed them, absorbed the pain while drawing it from his patient. The depth of the sacrifice Mikhail made to help others was staggering. No wonder he disappeared for such lengths of time whenever he healed someone with severe injuries. He was likely recovering from the physical trauma to his own body. And Gideon had no way to thank him, no way to make amends.
Mikhail sat back finally, his hands resting in his lap, exhaustion—and pain, Gideon could see now—lining his features. Somewhere behind them, he could hear Carly and Niklas speaking in hushed tones, but he couldn’t focus on their words. Only on the pale woman lying so still on the couch before him.
Maggie slowly opened her eyes.
“Rest, little one,” Mikhail said, his voice strained. “You are safe now.”
Maggie blinked. She took in Mikhail’s scarred visage and then Gideon’s wretched, miserable countenance. She looked back to Mikhail.
“You healed me,” she said, her gaze steady. “I could feel you…touching me…from the inside out.”
“I am sorry, it could not be helped,” Mikhail whispered. As if he’d done something to be ashamed of.
The room fell silent as all attention turned to the hushed exchange between Maggie and Mikhail.
Maggie reached out a trembling hand, doing what no one had ever dared to do. She laid a gentle hand against Mikhail’s scarred cheek, and looked deeply into his eyes. “I do not know your name.”
Gideon held utterly still, awash in an unexpected wave of tranquility. Power pulsed around Maggie, stronger than he’d ever noticed before.
“Mikhail,” the demon beside him replied, a confounded expression on his face.