At the sight of them, anger sparked in my shoulders. “What the blazes,” I began, “are you two doing—”
“You’re hurt,” Daniel interrupted. He strode forward, and I didn’t miss the leather wallet of lock picks he slid into his pocket. He reached for me. “What the hell happened?”
I skittered back. “You broke into my room.”
“We were worried,” Oliver snarled. He stalked through the doorway. “You didn’t answer our shouts, and then I heard . . . something.” He did not elaborate, but the sudden flash of gold around his eyes told me he knew exactly where I had been.
Inwardly, I swore.
Our souls were bound—it was the magic of a demon and a master. So Oliver must have sensed my absence. Or perhaps he had even heard the Hell Hounds since he always knew when the guardians of the spirit realm were near. His existence depended on making sure they never found him.
“We need to tend these wounds.” Daniel’s voice cut into my thoughts. He gripped my wrists and flipped my palms upward. “This is bad. Your hands are destroyed.” He pushed me toward the porthole, toward daylight. Then his grassy-green eyes bored into my face. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I murmured.
His jaw clenched. “This ain’t nothing, Empress. Talk to me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Oliver declared. Yet there was a forced nonchalance to his tone. “I will heal her.”
Daniel’s eyes clouded with resentment. He did not like my magic. He did not like that I was bound to a demon. Yet I could see in the twitching of his lips that he was trying to keep his hatred separate from this moment.
“How about,” he said slowly, “I just get you some bandages instead. I’ll heal you the old-fashioned way.”
“It’s fine.” I wriggled from his grasp. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Of course it does,” he argued. “And it won’t take me but a second—”
“It’s fine,” I repeated more forcefully. I did not want bandages. I wanted Oliver’s magic—warm and safe. Then I wanted solitude.
“Please, Daniel,” I added. “You should get back to flying.”
“Joseph’s at the helm. He’ll be fine for a few more minutes.” He lowered his voice and dipped in close. “Please, just heal yourself the normal way—”
“Magic is the normal way for her.” Oliver’s drawl held the same false apathy.
Daniel’s teeth gritted, but he held my gaze. “Please, Empress?”
For half a breath I considered bandages and salves. It would please Daniel, and I wanted that. . . . But then another splat! filled the cabin. More blood on the floor. Traditional healing would take weeks; I did not have weeks.
So I said, “No, Daniel.”
Hurt flashed over his face. His body tensed . . . but he made no move to leave. He simply stared at me, pain and frustration and . . . disgust warring in his gaze.
I understood his feelings—he believed, as Joseph did, that my magic corrupted me. That necromancy festered inside my soul.
But he and Joseph were wrong, and if Daniel truly wanted to help me, he would accept my magic as it was. Just as I accepted him for who he was: a man with a criminal past and dark memories.
“You heard her,” Oliver said, sauntering closer. He wore a smile as fake as his voice. “She asked you to go, Danny Boy.”
Red exploded on Daniel’s cheeks. In a violent twist, he rounded on Oliver and slammed him to the wall. “You have poisoned her mind, Demon.”
Oliver’s eyes flared bright gold. “And you,” he growled, all his indifference gone, “have poisoned her heart.”
Daniel’s fist reared back . . .
And I finally moved. “Stop!” I staggered toward them. “Just stop!”
Daniel froze, his gaze fixed on Oliver’s face. . . . Then his breath whooshed out. His fist fell. “I-I’m sorry, Empress—”
“Empress,” Oliver said with a snort. “That’s so bloody obnoxious.”
Daniel flung him a sneer. “Go to hell, Demon.”
“If only I could,” Oliver retorted.
“Enough,” I snapped at Oliver. Then to Daniel. “Please. Let me heal the way I wish to be healed.”
Daniel eyed me slantwise, and his chest rose and fell as he visibly tried to gain control of his temper.
But he lost; his temper won.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Use your magic. I have an airship to fly.” Then, shoulders tensed, he strode through the door.
Oliver waited until Daniel was out of sight, then he eased the door shut and turned to me. Any semblance of nonchalance was gone entirely now. “What,” he hissed, “just happened?”
“He doesn’t like you,” I said softly.
“He is not what I meant, and you know it.”
I did know it.
“Though,” Oliver went on, glaring at the door, “I will say that man is too volatile for you.”
“Hmmm.” I watched as another drop of blood spattered on the floor.
“Hmmm?” Oliver repeated, closing the space between us. “It does not bother you that he cannot control his temper?”