Page 72 of Powerless

I stumble down the steps, taking them two at a time. I nearly twist my ankle in the deadly contraption that are my heels before ungracefully flinging them off my feet, letting them tumble down the stairs before I nearly do the same.

I’m suddenly in front of him, having cleared the ballroom in a matter of seconds. I drop to my knees, looking up into his bloody, dirt-streaked face. His gray eyes only look startled for a moment before they begin roaming over me, searching my body for injuries as I do the same to him.

Words spew from my mouth. “What happened? Where are you hurt?” I look around, scanning the room. “And where are those damn Healers?”

“Ah, Gray. Just the person I wanted to see.” He grinds out the words through gritted teeth, though he’s still acting like his cool, collected self.

“What happened?” I demand, taking in his ripped clothes and the exposed chest beneath, now covered in gashes. His hands and most of his body are coated in blood, though I’m sure most of it doesn’t even belong to him.

“Before we get to that,” he fights to keep the grimace from gracing his features, “did a Healer get to you?” He’s suddenly serious, pain forgotten as his eyes sweep over me yet again.

I’m both confused and annoyed with him—a common occurrence, it seems. “What? Yes. I’m fine.” I dismiss his question and scoot closer, hands slightly outstretched. “But clearly, you’re not.”

“And here I was thinking you hated me and my stupid dimples. I’m touched you care so much about my well-being, Gray.” Even while in obvious pain he still finds a way to smirk. Along with being a total ass.

“Oh, don’t mistake my motives, prince. I only want to keep you alive long enough so I can punch that smirk off your face. Again.” There’s little bite in the words, and he huffs out a laugh as he shifts on the stone, exposing more of his back to me.

I gasp. “What thehellis wrong with you?!”

“Darling, that is a very loaded question.”

I ignore his comment, unable to tear my eyes from the throwing knife buried deep into the flesh of his right shoulder blade. “You’ve had a knife in your back this whole time and you just let me talk?” I’m sputtering.

A dimple accompanies his crooked grin. “Oh, but the sound of your voice was such a welcome distraction from the pain.”

Once again, I ignore him before standing to my feet to inspect the knife slicing deep into his back. Sighing, I mumble, “Yeah, well, now you get to hear me telling you that you’re a complete idiot.”

“That’s still one of the nicer things you’ve said to me, so, I’ll take it,” he says smoothly, seemingly undisturbed by the piece of metal impaling his body.

I can’t even imagine what pain he’s been through to make this wound seem so bearable.

“Okay,” I say slowly, “tell me what to do.”

His laugh is strained. “You say that like you’ll actually listen to me for once.”

“Kai, I’m about to add another knife to your back if you don’t—”

“I just need you to pull it out.”

I blink. He says this so casually that I almost think he’s joking. “Then we need to have a Healer here, ready to mend it as soon as the knife is out.”

He breathes out a strained laugh, the muscles beneath his torn shirt shifting. “I’m offended you doubt my abilities so much. There’s a Healer not too far from me. I can feel their power. I’ll heal myself.”

“Right. Okay.” I take a deep breath and grip the handle of the knife. “This is going to hurt.”

“You know, it’s a shame we never got to finish our dance,” he says. “It was the first time I could actually focus on you rather than dodging your stomping feet—”

I yank the knife out in one fluid motion. He grunts and doubles over on the stone. I smile slightly, having gotten revenge on him for what he said about my dancing, however true it may be.

I step around the rubble and crouch in front of him, my face close to his as I watch the pain crowd his handsome features. I flip the knife in my hand, still slick with his blood. “Tell me, did that hurt as much as my stomping feet?”

His laugh is gruff, pained. I stand to my feet and watch as he reaches a hand around his shoulder, pressing it atop the wound now steadily gushing blood. I stare as the shredded skin stitches itself back together. Stare as flesh and muscle reform before my very eyes, leaving nothing but a jagged scar to join the others across his back.

The tension eases from his stiffened shoulders and he sighs in relief. “Much better. Thank you.” I’m wondering how rarely those last two words leave his mouth when the corner of it lifts, and he uncoils to his feet. “Who knew that you’d be the one to pull a knife from my back and not the one to bury it there.”

“There’s still plenty of time for that, don’t worry.”

He grins, white teeth flashing against his filthy features. Then he rolls his neck and stretches, acting as though he wasn’t just impaled a few moments ago.

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