“They asked you to heal me?” “No.” Fresh stars erupt in my vision as I shake my head, as I thrust the knife into my pocket with such force that I tear the fabric. “They wanted you to drink from the humans downstairs, but I wouldn’t let them.” “Why?” “Odessa said you might kill them”—I glare at his rigid back, refusing to feel more foolish than I already do—“and they didn’t deserve to die because we walked into a trap.” With startling speed, he clenches the sheet in his fists, his arms tight with restraint. “So, naturally, you preferred I kill you instead.” “Of course not, but—” “You really do
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