“She stabbed me… in the shoulder,” Kerrigan said, pulling back her cloak to reveal the wound beyond.
Fordham inspected it, thoroughly and efficiently with little compassion. She winced through the entire thing.
“How’d you do that?”
“What?”
“That black smoke… it’s what you used to get into the tournament.”
“Family secret,” he said through gritted teeth. “You need to see a healer. This is beyond basic battlefield healing.”
“Battlefield healing?” she asked, her vision swimming again.
“Never mind.” Fordham stood and rummaged through the closet, pulling out an old bedsheet. He tore it precisely into strips. Then, he carefully wrapped her shoulder to try to stanch the bleeding and secured a makeshift sling for her arm. “There. Can you stand?”
“Um…”
Fordham put his arm around her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. Kerrigan groaned at the pain, even with the bandages and sling.
“My… head hit the bedpost.”
He ran his hand through the mass of curly hair until Kerrigan yelped in pain. “Yeah, you have a knot. Let’s get you back to the mountain.”
“No,” she said right away.
“No?”
“The Wastes.”
He looked at her skeptically. “The mountain has healers. You need to be seen immediately. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I know. The Wastes have healers, and they’re closer. Also”—she moved uneasily toward the balcony doors, where she bent down and retrieved the discarded knife—“I have a friend I want to ask about this.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” Fordham growled low as they approached the entrance to the crime lord’s lair.
“Probably not,” Kerrigan conceded.
But she didn’t have another choice. By the time they reached the Wastes, she could barely walk. She never would have been able to reach the mountain in time. Unfortunately, she’d have to put her health in Dozan Rook’s hands once more.
“Remind me why I decided to help you again.”
“I have no idea. This was your idea.”
He rolled his eyes. “I am never doing a favor for anyone ever again. Certainly not a halfling.”
The words have none of his venom though. They were almost friendly. Or maybe he was just trying to keep her mad so she wouldn’t pass out.
Kerrigan rolled her eyes. “Just get me inside, princeling. I can do the rest.”
He shot her a distrustful look. “Why was there an assassin after you anyway?”
“If I’d known, do you think I would have let them stab me?”
“Let them stab you? That’s an eloquent way of putting the scene when I walked in and saved your ass.”
“I would have been fine.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you always this overconfident?”
“Yes, she is,” a voice said, appearing at the entrance to the Wastes. A dark and broody crime lord, wearing the black and red of his establishment and a frown of displeasure.
“Dozan,” she croaked.
His eyes trailed down her body, where she clung to Fordham for support, then to the prince of the House of Shadows. She could tell he was not pleased, but he could shove it for all she cared. Word must have traveled fast for him to be here at the entrance when she turned up.
“What have you done with my fighting champion?” he asked Fordham.
Fordham’s eyebrows rose at that. “Fighting champion?”
“I’ll tell you all about it after I don’t have a hole in my shoulder,” she grumbled. “Dozan, this is Fordham. Fordham, this is Dozan. He runs the place and is a kind, magnanimous figure, who is going to get me a healer for this gods-damned shoulder.”
Dozan quirked a half-smile at the introduction. He was far from kind or magnanimous. He was ruthless, irritable, and unyielding, and he hated being bossed around. He always had. Even five years ago, when he’d first brought her back to the Wastes to find her a healer after… after everything. Her heart twisted at that. She still didn’t know why he hadn’t left her for dead that first time. He got power out of the equation, but she’d offered nothing when she lay mangled and bloody on the ground.
Dozan raised an eyebrow at Fordham. “You can leave Red here, and we’ll take care of her.”
To Kerrigan’s surprise, Fordham’s grip on her tightened. “I think I’ll take her to the healer myself.” His voice held bite and possessiveness. Even his posture straightened.
She knew Dozan well enough that if he kept this up, a fight would break out, and she really didn’t have the time. This was about that absurd authority that men had to push against to see who was the alpha among them. If she wasn’t injured and half-falling over, she would hit them both up the side of the head.
“Stab wound, remember?” she said through gritted teeth. “Can we not do this right now?”
Dozan set his jaw. The look he gave her said that someone was going to pay for this later. But she was as stubborn as he was and didn’t care about the cost.
“Follow me,” he said tightly.
Then, the crowd parted for him in the Wastes and they moved past a bar full of regulars, girls in scandalously clad dresses who winked at Fordham as they passed, and past the stairs that led to level after level of debauchery far below. And at the center, on the very bottom floor, was the Dragon Ring. Even this high up, she could hear the cheers of the crowd, their thirst for blood. It made her skin tingle with want.
They didn’t head down. No, they headed up to Dozan’s quarters. The only area that actually existed up. No one was higher than Dozan Rook.
Kerrigan stumbled over the first few stairs. Her feet kept getting stuck under her. Blood loss? She didn’t know, but she felt sluggish and clumsy.
Fordham reached for her, and she held up her hand unsteadily. “I can walk.”
He sighed as if it were a great inconvenience and then hoisted her into his arms despite her protests. It hadn’t been that long ago that Dozan was the one carrying her through the Wastes after her fight with Basem. It felt like an eternity ago.
No one seemed to care about her protests to walk. Dozan opened a door and gestured for Fordham to put her inside. It was stark with nothing but a small pallet and a wash tin nearby. Fordham laid her down onto the bed, which was surprisingly comfortable. Her head lolled back. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was until everything finally stopped and she didn’t have to try anymore. She could just lie here and breathe. Maybe sleep.
There was a muffled argument that ensued while she tried to get her bearings, and she only caught pieces of it.
“I won’t leave her alone with you.”
“You don’t have much choice.”
“I can take her back to the mountain.”
“If you were going to do that, then you wouldn’t have even come here.”
“She wanted to come here, not me.”
“Then trust her judgment.”
“Hers… not yours.”
“Only at your own peril.” There was a soft pause. “And apparently, hers tonight.”
“Just get her a healer.”