As quickly as Zacharel had erupted, he calmed. His body sagged against the bed, and he released a soft sigh. Before her eyes, bones popped back into place. Skin wove back together, until he bore not a single bruise or scratch. Her widening gaze fell to the bottle. What was this stuff?
“The Water of Life.” Zacharel jerked upright, scanning his surroundings, seeming to take everything in all at once. “Where is it?”
“You’re healed.” The words burst from her, riding the tides of her shock.
Emerald eyes landed on her, as clear as the liquid—the Water of Life?—and utterly pain free. Once again he possessed a face chiseled from dreams and honed by fantasies, lovely in a way no mortal could ever hope to be.
Her breath caught, and her blood heated with something other than fury. She wanted to shout with joy and throw herself in his arms. She wanted to dance and sing about the wonder of this mighty miracle. She wanted…more than she was willing to admit.
“You survived,” he said.
All emotion had been wiped from his voice, offering no hint of how he felt. “I did. Because of you, so thank you. Which, I know, isn’t an adequate payment. You took the brunt of the impact yourself, and all I can give you is words. I’m sorry.” She was babbling, she knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “If I had more, I’d give you more.”
“I would like to say it was a pleasure. Yes, I would like to say that, but impact hurt.”
She choked back a laugh. “Did you just make a joke?”
“A joke, when I spoke only the truth?” He waved his fingers at her. “The Water of Life,” he repeated. “Give it to me.”
“Oh. Here.” She held out the bottle.
Slowly, carefully he removed the bottle from her kung fu grip. “Who gave this to you?”
“Koldo.”
In his eyes she saw a flare of shock even the stoic Zacharel couldn’t hide.
Uh-oh. Had the other warrior broken some kind of rule? “But I take full responsibility,” she added. “I asked him to do it. Therefore, any penalty should be mine.” Koldo had more than come through for her and for Zacharel. She owed him and according to her new motto, she had to pay him back.
“Where is he?”
As much as she liked Zacharel, as much as she owed him, too, she didn’t know him, not really, and wouldn’t throw the other guy straight into the fire. “What do you plan to do to him?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I would not harm a man who has aided me, if that is what you are hinting at.”
Very well. She pointed to the warrior still unconscious on the floor. “I didn’t harm him, either. He left and came back like that.”
Zacharel stood, his robe falling to his feet. He replaced the bottle’s stopper; a moment later, the entire thing vanished.
“How did you do that?” she couldn’t help but ask. What had he done?
“I hid the vial in a tiny pocket of air I will now force to follow me.” He bypassed her, careful not to touch her, as if she were suddenly toxic.
Message received. He wanted nothing more to do with her. And my feelings are not hurt. What was one more rejection, anyway? She was a freak, a murderer, a crazy girl who saw monsters, or so a thousand people had told her. So what that she’d just spent an entire day worrying over this man’s health. A man who knew the truth about her. A man who’d previously protected her. Why the sudden change?
A hiss of breath as he crouched beside the injured male, glided his palm over that newly shorn scalp. “How could you let them take your hair, warrior? Why?”
Annabelle could guess the answer to the second question, but she’d given Koldo her promise never to discuss the details of their deal. So, she remained silent. What she wanted to know was why Zacharel was more upset by his friend’s newfound baldness than he was by the condition of the guy’s back.
Because both men were warriors to their cores? Because physical pain mattered little to them, since they’d endured so much already? Because losing something they prized, as Koldo must have prized his beaded locks, was far worse than any wound?