Page 105 of Nightbane
At once, they all jerked high into the air, feet dangling, clawing at their throats.
Grim’s eyes never left hers as he stalked over to her. He scanned her body. The cuts across her chest. Her ripped-open cheek. The long marks across her shoulders. Her hands covered in glass.
Grim’s voice was lethally calm as he said, “Which one?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes darted around the room. With them all floating at this angle, she couldn’t see their faces clearly. Which body was he? Tears blurred her vision.
“Isla,” he said carefully, like he was trying very hard to keep all of himself reined in. He had used her first name. “Which one did this to you?”
She didn’t know what he would do, or if she wanted to be the one responsible—
“Fine,” he said. “All of them, then.”
There was a chorus of cracks as all their necks were broken in tandem. They all fell to the floor. Grim opened his hand, and her starstick flew into his grip.
“You idiot,” he said before reaching down and taking her into his arms.
He was furious. He had portaled them into his room. He set her down on a couch and growled, “I’ll be back,” before vanishing.
Her head fell against the back of the chaise, and she groaned. She had truly believed she could find the sword herself. How wrong she had been.
He reappeared, holding about a dozen different types of bandages and a bowl. He motioned for her to lie down, then went to work, placing the gauze over her shoulders, where she had been injured. They were cold as ice. At their contact, she bucked, cursing.
Grim kept her down with a firm hand on her lower stomach that made her feel shockingly feverish.
“These are Moonling,” he said. “They’re good at healing cuts.”
She was right. Cleo was helping him. Or, at the very least, he was stealing from the Moonlings. “Do you ... trade with them?”
Grim didn’t answer.
His brows were drawn in focus as he plucked pieces of glass from her chest. She closed her eyes tightly against the pricks of pain.
“Let me see your hands.”
They were a wreck. She didn’t even want to look at the damage. She held still.
He snatched one himself and cursed under his breath. “This will take a while,” he said. She imagined there were dozens of pieces buried deep beneath her palm and fingers.
Without warning, he lifted her in his arms again. And set her on his lap.
Isla tensed. She was still in her far-too-revealing Nightshade dress. “What are you doing?”
“You need to keep still,” he said. “Or the glass is going to move while I’m working and make removing all of it almost impossible. I can make you pass out if you prefer.”
Isla balked. “I most certainly do not prefer that.”
He looked down at her, waiting for approval to continue. She gritted her teeth and said, “Fine.”
“So charming,” he said coolly. Then he snaked his arms around her, pinning her in place, while he gently opened her fingers.
She wasn’t breathing. She was engulfed by him. He was cold as bone. She shivered.
He plucked the first piece of glass from her hand, and she bucked again. This time, though, his arms were around her, hard as iron, keeping her in place. She breathed too quickly, pain shooting up her arm. She watched him expertly remove piece after piece.
She gasped at an especially deep incision. He was tall enough that he rested his chin against the top of her head, and said, “There are about a dozen more on this hand alone, so I would find a way around the pain.”
She peered up at him. He glanced down at her for half a second before focusing back on her hand.
