His hand shook, fury pouring off him. Claire expected the knife to stab in. But something stayed his hand. She might have a chance, if she could reach the part of him that hesitated.
“Liar.” The tip pressed into her. Claire grabbed his wrist, agony robbing her breath. “She said you’d lie, to save yourself. I’m not supposed to kill you—she wants you alive . . .” His hand shook. “I can’t let you live—she wants you alive—”
He let out an anguished scream and gripped the knife with both hands.
The front door burst open.
A tall blur slammed into her attacker. They slid across the floor, struggling for the knife. The new intruder punched her attacker, yanked the blade out of his grip and moved to Claire’s side.
“Hold still.”
“Marcus—” She arched away from his hand, pain blinding her. He leaned over her, careful not to make contact.
“I am going to see to your guest. Don’t go anywhere.”
Claire forced her muscles to unclench—not an easy task, when every one felt like it was on fire. She spread her good hand on the cool wood of the floor, let it seep in. It didn’t ease the fire, but it did give her something to focus on.
She felt Marcus crouch beside her, and knew what was coming. “I have to—”
“Do it. Just—ignore the screaming.”
He moved fast, scooping her up. She managed to stay conscious, a raw cry escaping when he tightened his grip.
“I am sorry, sweet. Nearly there. Nearly there now.” He settled her to the bed and sat beside her. “I can only do this one way, Claire. It is going to hurt you, and I am sorry for that.”
Leaning over, he folded himself around her. Wind snatched at her hair, bringing heat—and bone-cracking agony. She couldn’t take enough breath in to scream, couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t move. Panic shot through her—then hands reached in to connect, to soothe, to draw out. She tried to protect herself from him, but the pain burrowed too deep, and he touched her, the part she buried behind time and wards, to reach it.
The heat changed, and beyond it she felt his suffering, his sacrifice as he healed her.
She reached for him—and found that she could, the pain no longer debilitating.
“Marcus,” she whispered. Fingers caught her wrist before she could touch him.
“Almost—there.”
“Enough. Marcus—stop.”
Shuddering against her, he let go.
The wind died, taking the heat with it. Marcus rolled off the bed. Gathering herself, Claire crawled to the edge, found him huddled on the rug, shock white and shaking.
“No, Claire.” His sand raw voice halted her mid-reach. “I need—time.”
“I can give you that.” She slid off the bed, flinching when her knees made contact with the rug. Every nerve jumped, over sensitized. “How about some water to go with it?”
“Appreciated.”
Using the bed, she pulled herself up, put weight on her right leg with care, numb and tingling at the same time. Halfway down the hall, she remembered who waited in her living room. Pausing, she took in a pain free breath, stepped into his sight.
He surged forward, fighting against the heavy curtain ties Marcus used to lash him to the pillar near her front door. Rage smacked her, along with the spell that still held him.
“Don’t go near him, Claire.”
She turned, found Marcus hanging on to the corner of the hallway wall.
“What are you doing? Stubborn Jinn.” She led him to the sofa—on the opposite side of the room from her uninvited guest—and sat with him, her legs shaking.
“He must be freed.”
With a sigh, Claire looked up at Marcus. Just the thought of yanking that dark spell out of the man exhausted her.
“Water first. Then we’ll figure out how to pull it out of him with as little damage as possible.”
“Does Annie know about you?”
Claire’s heart stilled, then jerked painfully in her chest.
“No—and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Pushing herself up, she waited until her right leg felt stable, then shuffled toward the kitchen. For the second time her front door burst open.
“Claire!” Annie rushed in, sidestepping when she saw the man tied up in the foyer. Eyes wide, she searched the still dark house. When she found Claire, she ran to her. “Are you—God, you look like hell.”
“Thank you, Annie.” She kept moving toward the kitchen—and her leg decided it was done for the day.
“I’ve got you.” Annie caught her around the waist, picked her up, settled her back on the sofa next to Marcus. “Now stay put—both of you. You look like you’ve gone to war, and I’m not sure who won.”