Sometimes you forget how intimate touching someone really is. It requires closeness, your skin against theirs, feeling the softness of their flesh, the suppleness of their muscles, the little downy hairs covering the surface. It was even more intimate when they looked at you, and you looked at them. He was cooperating. I had no need to capture him with my eyes, hold him in my thrall. I doubted I even could; he wasn't human. I kept my eyes fixed instead on my hands.

A bare flexing of will, summoning a part of me that was always there, like my beast. But this power I welcomed, was unafraid of. And it came to my call, awakening from the core of me, flooding me with a cool rush beginning from my heart and spilling down my arms, into my hands. Those pearly moles, the Goddess's Tears, embedded in the hearts of my palms, tingled and heated. Like a knowing, living thing, the power seeped under Dontaine's skin, assessing the damage, and removing the pain.

When it was done, I lifted my hands, feeling his intent gaze hard upon me. Folding back the dirty washcloth to reveal a clean side, I began washing Dontaine's other arm, reaching across him. "I cannot heal you, but I can ease some of your pain," I said, my eyes on the washcloth as it moved over him.

I felt Dontaine's attention leave me, focus behind me, and when I turned, I saw that Gryphon had returned. He set the supplies he had brought on top of the bureau.

"Where's Amber?" I asked.

"He left."

"Why did he do that?"

"Dontaine will be able to rest easier if Amber is not here," Gryphon said, turning to pick up a basin he had brought. A natural move, but one that allowed him not to meet my eyes. Gryphon went into the bathroom, filled the basin with water, and set it by my side, his presence breaking the tense awareness between Dontaine and I. Gratefully, I rinsed the bloody cloth in the basin, wrung it dry, and began cleaning Dontaine's chest, moving the cloth carefully over the injured areas, pressing my warm tingling palm over his wounds.