Healer

“Dante, no. Exactly how drunk was I when I agreed to that?!”

“Well....that certainly woke you up, at least.” Dante threw his head back and laughed like a little kid. Of course, he was far more menacing than a little kid, considering that he three inch fangs—all the better to eat me with.

Despite the fangs, I slapped him, hard. The tiny silver ring I wore for just such occasions made contact with his cheek, burning. His laugh stopped dead, and for a second, the only noise was the sizzling of his skin. A drop of ichor dripped down, burning a small hole in the floor. Another, unluckily, landed on me. Other than that, the room was silent as a grave.

I waited, almost feeling guilty. He stayed still, starting to smell like barbecue.

Then, calmly, he grasped my wrist and pulled it away from his face. A hideous burn—a cauterized hole , about the size of my thumbnail, left a crater in his smooth skin. Unperturbed, he sighed and went back to cleaning my wounds, as well as washing the new ichor burn, which was beginning to eat at my skin like acid.

As I watched, his wound began to seal closed, slowly, leaving a small, almost unnoticeable scar.

“Do not do that again. Next time I may strike back.” Dante's voice was even, without even a hint of anger. All of that was in his eyes, but he was careful to hold back—breaking the Laws by harming a mortal would've been enough of an offense to get him flat-out killed, and he was smarted than that...if only slightly.

I nodded, not meeting those stormy eyes. For once common sense won, and I didn't object again to him cleaning my hand.

Silence fell across the room, until he began binding my hand. Then the air was filled with cursing.

“Okay, okay you've done what you came to do now leave me alone!”

“Don't order me around. And the cut is still infected, plus I think you're getting blood-rot.”

“I am not getting blood-rot. I'll be fine.”

“You'll be dead if we don't get you to a healer.”

Something about the stern glare in his eyes told me he wasn't playing, but I was and will always be stubborn.

“I am a healer. I told you, I'm fine.”

“You are not. Now either get up and come with me or I will drag you.”

“Drag me if you wish. I am not coming with you.”

Silently, the incubus lifted me over his shoulder. I can't say whether he copped a feel or not, since I fainted within seconds. Suffice it to say, I was not fine.