Lily bit her lip to keep back the sharp words she wanted to use and bent to pick up the slacks he'd dropped on the floor. Fear didn't bring out her best side.
Maybe he was afraid, too. Maybe that's why he was being such an ass about this.
He removed the pad. The wound looked fresh, with no trace of a scab. Blood welled up and trickled down his leg. A drop hit the floor.
"Question," Cynna said. "Is the poison carried by blood? If so, I'd better wear gloves. I'd rather not pick up a little demon poison accidentally."
"I didn't notice." When she'd inspected the wound earlier, it hadn't been bleeding this freely. "I'll check."
She went to him and bent to touch the rivulet of blood running down his thigh. "It's clean. While I'm here, though…" As gently as possible, she touched the flesh near the wound. Her breath hitched. "The contagion is spreading. I'm picking it up in the flesh around the wound now."
Rule touched her cheek. She looked up. His eyes were very dark, opaque to her. "Then it's a good thing you and Cynna thought of holy water. I apologize for my churlishness."
She swallowed. Nodded. And moved aside to make room for Cynna.
"You shouldn't feel anything other than wet," Cynna said as she came to stand in front of him, carrying a small glass vial. "But we're in experimental territory here."
He gave her a single nod.
She frowned, looking down at his bare hip. Her lips moved, but if she was praying, Lily couldn't hear it. She uncapped the vial and poured its contents directly on his wound.
Rule's face contorted. His hand swung out so fast it was a blur. And Cynna went flying backward.
TEN
HORROR froze Rule in place. Lily scrambled over to Cynna, who lay crumpled on the floor. Acid ate at his hip and thigh, a screech of pain shouting enemy and hide, run, fight…
"I'm okay," Cynna muttered. With Lily's help, she sat up. She gave her head a careful shake as if checking that it was still attached. "But, Jesus! You do pack a punch."
A punch. He'd hit her. He'd hit a woman.
"Good thing you slapped instead of making a fist," she went on, "or I'd probably be… Rule?"
He'd lurched to his feet. The burning in his hip made him unsteady, or maybe it was guilt spinning him into vertigo. He couldn't look at the woman he'd struck or at the one he loved. Quickly he left the room.
His ears weren't interested in what he could or couldn't deal with. They continued to report to him. He heard the two women talking as he moved blindly into the parlor—Lily asking where Cynna hurt, Cynna telling her, "Go on. I'm sore, but nothing's broken. I'm not so sure about him."
Broken. She was right. Something inside was broken, and he couldn't make it work right anymore.
Lily came up behind him. Without saying a word she put her arms around him. He stiffened. He didn't deserve comfort. She ignored the implicit rejection, laying her head on the bare skin of his back. And then she did nothing at all.
Her scent made the air sweet to him; the beat of her heart and the soft susurration of her breath were the only sounds. She didn't question or accuse or excuse. She just stood there, letting her body say things he wouldn't have listened to had she spoken them aloud.
His body listened. "It was pride," he said, not having planned to speak at all. "Pride. I didn't want to admit how little control I have. The wolf is always close now—too nearly in charge, too much of the time. I shouldn't have let Cynna near me. A wounded animal is dangerous."
"You tried to avoid it. We wouldn't let you."
"Because I hadn't told you what the real problem was."
The silk of her hair moved against his skin as she nodded. "You should have told me, yes. Now you have."
Something unlocked inside him and settled. He wasn't sure if he should call it acceptance or despair. "No questions?"
"Dozens," she assured him. "Think of this as the lull before the storm. The holy water hurt more than Cynna expected."
"Yes," he said dryly. Though the first shrill shriek of pain had faded to a steady throbbing, his hip certainly hurt more now than before she splashed him. "If we want to be optimistic, we can assume that means it accomplished something."
"The hell with optimism. I want to know." Her hand slid down his side.
Rule tensed. But when her fingertips traced the wound it was only pain he felt, simple physical pain. No instinctive rush to defend drowning out reason.
But he should have known instinct and reason would agree this time. The wolf was as bound to this woman as the man.
"It's scabbing over," she said.
He'd have felt more relief if she'd sounded happier. Rule turned to face her. "But… ?"
"The contagion isn't gone. The holy water diminished it. Diluted it," she corrected herself, as if precise speech could limit the danger. "It doesn't cover as much area, but there's a hard knot of it still, and… look. Look at your leg, Rule."
He did. His eyebrows rose. "Is it forming a scar?"
"Looks like."
Most of it was scabbed over, though the deepest part still oozed blood. The shallowest part of the scratch, on his thigh, was closed entirely… in a thin line of shiny skin. "Interesting. I've never had a scar."
"Adds to the machismo."
She was trying for humor. He helped. "Should be good for the image. What do you think? Should I take Cosmopolitan up on their offer?"
"What offer?"
"I believe it involves a bearskin rug. At least, something was mentioned about bare skin."
She rolled her eyes. "Speaking of which, maybe you could put your pants back on now."
He looked toward the kitchen. Humor drowned in a rush of need and guilt. "There's something I must do first."
"You need to do this naked?"
"Actually, yes." He detached himself gently and headed for the kitchen.
Cynna sat at the table, holding a bag of frozen peas to her jaw and scribbling on a pad. She looked up. "How'd we do? Is it gone?"
"Diminished. Repeated doses may eliminate it entirely."
"I've got more. We can—"
"No, we can't. Someone else will administer any further doses." He knelt in front of her, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.
"What are you… get up, Rule. Rule?" She smelled upset. Her voice shifted as she turned her head. "What is he doing?"
"It looks like he's submitting to you," Lily said.
"Kinky. But so not necessary. Rule, get up."
He spoke quietly. "My regret is not enough. My apology is not enough. I submit myself to punishment, payment, or penance."
"You're forgiven, all right?" She sounded panicky. "No payment or punishment or anything."
"Cynna." That was Lily. "I agree that punishment isn't called for, since he's beating himself up pretty well already. But you're Catholic. You understand the need for penance. His need, not yours."
"Oh." She took a deep breath. "From where I stand, we all made a mistake, not just you, but I can tell you're not ready to be reasonable. Only I'm clueless. I don't think assigning you an Our Father or two will help."
He'd allowed himself to be ruled by instinct. Again. A moment's thought, and he would have known to explain before he knelt; he wasn't supposed to speak once the ritual began. But that was unfair to Cynna, who was understandably confused.
"Lily," he said. "I can't speak to Cynna now, but you're clan. You may speak to her, if you wish."
Lily's voice was cool and thoughtful. "Am I allowed to ask you questions?"
"Yes." Though he'd have to be careful that his answers didn't suggest a particular response.
"If the Rho were here, what would he do?"
"He would ask, as I did, that Cynna choose penance, payment, or punishment."
"And if she chose penance?"
"He would ask if she wished to assign it herself."