Thomas laid her hand back down over her stomach and gave Drake a pained look. “You’ve got to do something for his pain.”
“I will.”
Thomas squeezed Drake’s hand. Whether it was to reassure him or to tell him good-bye, Drake wasn’t sure. A moment later, Thomas was gone and the van started moving again.
“I’m going to heal you now,” he told Drake, “but before I do, I want you to listen. I know that as soon as your body is whole once again, you’re more likely to kill me than thank me.”
At least Logan knew the score. Now Drake had no obligation to warn him that he was going to kill him for taking Helen’s blood.
“Helen is one of ours,” whispered Logan in a reverent voice. “I don’t know how it is possible, but I believe she is a Theronai. Your Theronai, should you choose to claim her.”
Drake struggled to accept what Logan had just said. It didn’t make any sense and between the searing pain of the burns and his broken bones, he couldn’t think clearly enough to figure it out.
“We need her,” continued Logan. “And she needs you. Who knows if any of the other Theronai would be compatible with her? Neither Thomas nor Zach is or they would have known it tonight like you did. They would have been drawn to her in some way. She needs you to bring her into our world, but if you try to kill me, you won’t survive. I’ll make sure of it. Before I’m done healing you, you will be peace-bound.”
No! Drake struggled, but the movement only managed to make the broken ends of his ribs grate together. A wave of pain swept over him and he had to struggle to stay conscious.
Peace-bound to a Sanguinar who had hurt Helen. He couldn’t stand the mere thought. The Sanguinar had been known to put a kind of self-destruct mechanism into the people they healed as a guarantee that their patients wouldn’t try to kill them after they were well. War among the Sentinel races had been common for centuries, and the Sanguinar needed the insurance. Still, it hadn’t been done in years. Human bloodlines had grown too weak and none of the Sanguinar were strong enough to wield that kind of magic any longer.
Maybe he was just bluffing so Drake wouldn’t try to kill him the second he had the chance.
“You think I’m not strong enough, but you’re wrong. Helen’s blood is nearly pure. I don’t know how that’s possible, but it is. I am no longer the weakling you’ve come to know.”
Drake forced himself to look up into the Sanguinar’s too-beautiful face.
Oh, hell. It was true. Drake could see it in Logan’s triumphant expression. He could see the power glowing behind his pale eyes.
Logan smiled, his beauty too intense for Drake to stare at for very long. He looked away and prayed that whatever power Logan had, he wouldn’t use it to harm any humans. There was nothing any of the Theronai could do to stop a Sanguinar at full strength. Not even the Slayers had that kind of power and they were virtual killing machines.
“I think we understand each other,” said Logan, satisfaction ringing in his voice. He ripped open the remains of Drake’s shirt, sending bits of charred cotton into the air. Logan placed his hands on Drake’s chest and closed his eyes.
A cool rush of power swept over Drake, as gentle as a breeze, and in the blink of an eye, the burns were gone, his leg was whole, his ribs no longer crushed. Drake had never seen anything or felt anything like it before. He’d been healed by the Sanguinar plenty of times, but it was never like this. Healing hurt. All the pain of recovery was shoved into a short interval of time, increasing its intensity. Usually, the Sanguinar didn’t have enough power to both heal and prevent pain. The Theronai had learned to accept the pain as part of the price for recovery, and Drake had expected the worst, considering the extent of his burns.
Not only did the healing not hurt; it felt good. Soothing, like cool water lapping gently over his skin.
Drake looked up at Logan. The Sanguinar sat back on his heels. “Would you like to take a swing now just so you know the measures I’ve put in place are real?”
Drake shoved himself upright. Taking a swing would have been fun, but even thinking about it made his head throb. Whatever physical harm he did to Logan would come back to him greatly magnified. A punch to that pretty jaw might cost Drake all his teeth, or even break his neck. He’d had enough pain for one night and he needed to take care of Helen—make sure the Sanguinar had done no lasting damage.
“Fix Helen’s hands, her face,” ordered Drake. “You owe her at least that much.” As soon as Logan complied, Drake was going to have Thomas come back here and beat the hell out of him. Drake couldn’t touch him, but Thomas sure as hell could. Hard.
It took Logan only a few seconds to pull the glass from her wounds and knit her skin back together. Even the blood evaporated, leaving nothing but smooth, pink skin.
Drake ached to touch her—to check her for injury—but held back. There were too many odd things happening between them and he had to figure out what to do before he touched her again. Once he did that, he knew his thinking would be skewed and rationality would fly right out the window. She felt too good under his hands. Too right.
“Wake her up.”
Logan reached for her, but let his hand fall. “No. Do it yourself.”
“I’ll have to touch her.”
Logan smiled. “I know.”
That was it. Drake was done dealing with Logan. It was time for Thomas to lend a helping fist. “Thomas, pull over. Now.”
Thomas spared one quick glance over his shoulder, saw Drake awake and lucid, and the van screeched to a halt.
Logan wasn’t going to wait around long enough for Drake to tell Thomas what he’d done. Drake wouldn’t be able to hurt him, but Thomas was another matter entirely.