Page 76 of A Dance With Fire
“Fuck!” Ryker growled, pushing his way over to the fallen Fae. He laid him back on the ground and, in a careful move, ripped his jacket and shirt, tearing at the material to display his gaping wounds. “Fuck!” Ryker turned his grave eyes towards Clay. “There’s a chunk of iron in the wound. I can’t heal him with it stuck in there.” Then he got up and snapped at the serving Fae who had all come to help. “Get him to a room. Put all the sick together so I can tend to them. Now!” They rushed to obey his brusque command. Shula watched with barely veiled fascination as he stopped another fluttering Unseelie. “I’ll need water and cloth, things to dress and change wounds. Herbs, boiled water, ice, and all the helping hands I can get.”
Movements became blurred as everyone rushed to do Ryker’s bidding. The injured were carted away up a staircase and down a hall, while those who were fine were pulled near the hearth to warm up.
Shula stared after Ryker, watching him take hulking strides up the stairs. She was staring so intently, she noticed he was walking with the slightest limp.
“Miss, are you hurt? Miss?” The fluttering green Fae was suddenly there in Shula’s line of vision. Black, worried eyes glided down the length of her body, as if trying to assess the damage.
“I’m fine,” Shula croaked. “Ryker—”
“His power is healing,” Clay supplied, the smirk evident in his tone. “In case you didn’t realize that yet.”
“We should help him.” She couldn’t get the image of him limping out of her mind, or the image of the Fae man dropping to his knees. Of blood. Of Orna’s bruised and beaten body. So much death, so much blood. And she was helpless to do anything about it.
“Nah, he doesn’t like us in his space. Growly asshole.”
“Come, come.” The green Fae tugged at Shula, edging her towards the direction of the fire. “Let us warm you, miss.”
All her life she’d been helpless. She did nothing but watch as they carted her parents away, just like she did nothing but watch when that old human had died for her, and the same went for Orna and Des. She always felt controlled through her movements, but this was something that wouldn’t be solved with a dance. And Shula didn’t just want to sit around by the fire and not do something.
Who cared if Ryker got upset? Help was help, and there were so many injured. What if the Fae with the iron in his body died? Iron was poisonous in direct quantities; it could kill him before they got a chance to operate.
Decided, Shula tossed the blanket from her shoulders and darted towards the staircase. She barely heard Clay’s shout behind her. Her feet pounded, the pain jarring up to her knees. She didn’t care. Shula followed the retreating footsteps and caught up in time to see them being laid down on thin cots on the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Get out!” Ryker was on his knees by the Fae with the iron inside him. His hands were covered in blood, the panic evident in his dark expression. But it wasn’t to him Shula looked at. It was at the Fae male, twisting in agony.
His cries set Shula into motion. She rolled the sleeves of Clay’s borrowed tunic up to the elbows. “Where do you want me?” she asked, grim determination set in her stance.
Ryker looked inclined to argue, but the male let out another wail. Ryker jerked his head to the side. “Wash your hands with warm water and rub alcohol over them as disinfectant. Bring my forceps and alcohol. Now.”
Shula dodged past the helping Fae and the injured on the floor, rushing to do what Ryker had ordered. There was a station in the back of the dry room with a table and all the instruments on top of it. She quickly went to a basin of warm water and scrubbed from her hands up to her elbows before rubbing them with alcohol. She grabbed the forceps and stared at them for a moment before decided to disinfect those too, just in case. After bundling everything in her arms, she ran back to Ryker and dropped to her knees beside him.
He let out a curse. “I need fucking light!” Immediately following his request, a bright cluster of floating lights that emitted buzzing noises hovered over them, illuminating the Fae.
His wound was grotesque and fleshy, and blood oozed from it onto Ryker’s hands.
“Forceps,” he ordered.
Shula’s fingers trembled as she dropped them into his awaiting hand.
“Alcohol.”
As she handed that to him, she said, “I already disinfected them.”
He grunted in response then tipped the bottle over directly onto the Fae’s wound. He screamed. Shula winced. “Warn a Fae next time,” she mumbled.
Ryker had no comment. His entire focus was on the task at hand. For the next few moments, they worked in silence until the iron and any remaining shards were out of the Fae’s body. Only then did Ryker place his palm over the wound. Then the room was filled with light. Glowing, white-golden light that rivaled what emitted from the twinkling Fae floating above them.
And it felt like the softest sting, like a drifting cold breeze in the summer heat. It was an all-consuming calm that had tears prickling behind Shula’s eyes.
The light shimmered and slowly died. When it did, Ryker doubled over gasping, a sound he immediately sucked in and held. And the wound? It was completely gone. Unmarred skin lay where gaping flesh had once been. Not even a scar was left behind.
Ryker pushed himself to his feet, and Shula noticed how he wobbled slightly. But he didn’t stop to breathe or to rest. For the next hour, he barked orders that she obeyed. Getting cloth, washing patients, disinfecting tools and wounds, and all the while Ryker healed.
It was a fascinating transformation, to see wounded flesh mend itself with the power of his magic, the way it wove together like string in a tapestry.
By the time Ryker got around to tending to the last patient, Shula was exhausted. She wanted to fall asleep on her feet, and it took everything she had to drag herself towards the entrance of the room and stand there. She was hypnotized by Ryker. He was such a big man; it was hard to imagine how he could be so gentle with others. It was so at odds with his scowling demeanor.
Every time he healed, he gritted his jaw in what looked like pain. As if…
