Page 77 of A Dance With Fire
“Pain is the price of his magic.”
Shula startled at the voice and turned to see Clay who propped his shoulder against the doorway. He didn’t meet her gaze, but he stared at Ryker like he was a fascinating, rare creature.
“To heal them and restore the balance, he takes their pain onto himself,” Clay continued. “The pain and the—”
“The scars,” Shula finished for him, her eyes widening with realization.
Of course.
Of course.
That’s why he had the scars.
“So many of them…” At least that she could see. There were probably more, too. More she couldn’t see. The wound from the first Fae he’d healed alone would leave a scar the size of her fist on his abdomen, she was sure of it.
“He is kind. Some would say too kind.”
Shula wanted to snort at that but stopped herself. As much as she wanted to poke fun at the notion, she couldn’t. Because it was true. Or at least, it had to be. Only a kind Fae would look out for others, would constantly heal them despite the pain it brought himself and the twisted deformities it left behind.
And her injuries? He’d healed those too. Of that she had no doubt. Was that what the tingling sensation had been when his palms explored her collarbones? And what about the injuries when they’d dragged her unconscious body through a portal and to that first safe house?
Ryker had healed her, even though he obviously hated her.
If that wasn’t selfless, she didn’t know what was.
Ryker stood up. Most of those who had been sick were sleeping, but those who were awake called out their gratitude. He didn’t stop to accept their good graces or wishes. He all but stumbled passed their forms.
He barreled his way towards the door where both Shula and Clay stood and stopped.
“Move!” The word was a growl of rage.
Shula started to take a step back but froze when she saw his shirt dripping crimson. “You’re hurt.” She reached for him without realizing what she was doing. It was instinct, she supposed, after spending the better part of an hour dealing with wounds, to want to see this one as well. Before she could even touch him, however, Ryker shouldered past her quickly.
The action caused her to ram into Clay, whose arms shot out to hold her steady. Ryker growled and stormed down the hall like a hulking brute.
“The downside to his power is that he cannot heal himself.”
“Shit.”
What must Ryker be feeling? He’d healed her and every single person, Fae and human both, in this room, depleting his own energy, absorbing their pain and scars, all while holding in his own. But he didn’t have to go through the pain alone. She could help. All he had to do was guide her through the process.
Fae were quick healers; quicker than humans, anyway. But they could still be wounded, could still be hurt, killed.
Her feet moved after him. Even injured, he was fast, turning down the castle hallways at a rapid pace that had her panting to keep up with. With harrowing speed, she burst towards him. He turned just before she reached him, and she slammed into his chest.
Grunting from the pain of the impact, Ryker took a step away from her. His hand cradled his wound, and she could see the blood flowing between his fingers.
“Let me look at th—”
“Fuck off!”
Shula reared back at his shout, but somehow it was the angry look in his eyes that hurt worse than the words. It was a look he hadn’t hid from her before but somehow seemed amplified all of a sudden. Disgust. It was the same look Fanny had given her when she found out what Shula really was.
That look seared her soul in half and she didn’t even know why.
She thought they’d shared a sort of camaraderie in that room. Healing together. More the fool she then to think that she could ever be close to one of her captors. She was a fool for forgetting who they were. That the only reason everyone in there had been hurt was because of them in the first place.
The only reason Orna was dead was because they wanted to play heroes instead of accept the hand the world had dealt them.
