Free Blood Kin by M.J. Scott

harder and I froze again, gasping. Beneath my damp palm, the surface was smooth, faintly warm and slick.
    Marble, perhaps?
    Hospital,
something in the far reaches of my brain managed to mutter.
    I opened my eyes a crack. That hurt too. But it confirmed that I was indeed lying on marble somewhere out in the open. Sun glared into my eyes, making everything blurred and dazzling through the tears. In the distance I could see more marble—steps leading to a building with a dome rising from the roof.
    St. Giles?
    My location didn’t really concern me. No, what had my attention was the way everything hurt. I wanted to surrender to the waves of dizziness and let them carry me down into the darkness. But I fought them, unwilling to give in. Not when I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. I might still be in danger.
    Footsteps tapped across the marble toward me. I curled reflexively into a ball. Which only made everything hurt more. In my next life I was going to try being a boring everyday person who didn’t get beaten up. A real live shop girl. Something normal. But even as that thought rose, I remembered my father’s face as he instructed the man to hurt me and everything came flooding back with a vengeance.
    The beating. The geas. My task.
    Bile rose in my throat and I coughed, trying not to retch.
    “Miss?” The voice was male. Carefully soft and nonthreatening. Reassuring. “Miss, can you hear me?”
    My throat hurt. But I swallowed and somehow managed to croak, “Yes.”
    “You’re at St. Giles,” the voice said. “We’ll take care of you now.”
    Good. That was good. More footsteps and then hands lifting me. At which point, the world went black and everything went away again.
    When I woke for the second time, I lay on something soft. All right, so that was a small improvement. I still hurt, though, every inch of me aching or throbbing, so maybe I hadn’t been unconscious for very long. Surely they would have healed me if I had been? I opened my eyes carefully.
    A man wearing a healer green tunic stood at the foot of my bed watching me. His eyes were a summer-sky sort of blue, warm and comforting.
    He smiled at me with a friendly nod. “Good, you’re awake.” His voice was soothing, a warm, low tone that somehow projected reassurance and confidence.
    “Doesn’t feel good,” I managed.
    “No, I would imagine that it doesn’t,” he replied, smile vanishing, eyes cooling. He ran a hand through darkish gold hair, then fished a notebook out of his pocket. “I’ll do something about that shortly. Who did this to you?”
    His voice was edged with anger. Not directed at me and for that I was grateful. He was tall, this healer. Not quite as broad-shouldered as the Templar but still strong. For a moment I saw the Beast lifting his hand to strike me and had to close my eyes and swallow hard. I was safe now.
    “Who did this?” the healer repeated, his tone gentled somewhat.
    I felt the geas tighten my throat with greasy claws. Apparently Cormen had indeed included some extra commands in those last Fae mutterings. I couldn’t make my mouth work to tell the truth. I ransacked my brain for a plausible story, and the pressure eased when I decided on one. “N-no one. F-fell,” I said shakily. “Stairs.”
    The healer’s mouth went flat. “You can tell me the truth. St. Giles is a Haven. If someone’s hurting you, we’ll keep you safe.”
    “Stairs,” I repeated.
    He shook his head at me. “If you insist.” He paused and watched me silently, giving me time to change my story. I stayed quiet.
    “Do you know your name?”
    “Holly.” Apparently I was allowed to keep that much. “Holly Ev-Everton.” I couldn’t get my real surname out. Seemed Cormen had thought of everything. No chance of anyone tying Evendale—the bastardized human form of his name—back to him.
    “I’m Master Healer DuCaine. Simon.”
    Lords of hell. I managed not to react. Just.
    Damn. Why did it have to be him?
    As much