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It was an effort not to convert his blood to magic so that I could shift into something bigger, stronger. I could get him out of here if I was a giant.

But dark magic had undoubtedly been behind the crash. Best not tempt misfortune twice.

Instead I reached across him and slid my hands over his pinned thigh, shifting into my role as healer.

I felt the muscles of his leg go rigid at my touch.

“I’m feeling for your injury,” I explained.

He made an affirming noise. Or maybe it was just a grunt of pain.

I probed around the injury, hearing hisses every now and then from Asher. My fingers traced the shape of the metal that dug into his thigh, metal that appeared to be attached to the door.

Heal him. Heal him. Heal him.

The urge rode me even though I had no magic and no way of connecting with him.

I removed my hands, my eyes moving to the door.

It needed to open.

I grabbed the driver-side door handle, my body stretched across Asher’s. His hands came up, loosely bracing me by the waist. It was embarrassingly distracting, and a stab of guilt sliced through me. The man was injured and my mind drifted there.

Metal groaned as the door gave a little. It came to a halt. I pushed again. It gave just a smidgen more.

Leaning my shoulder into door, I shoved against it. Now it hung open the span of a knuckle.

All I needed was a little more leverage.

“I have an idea.”

“Lord save us,” Asher mumbled. I swear I felt his hands squeeze my sides a little tighter though, silent encouragement.

I repositioned myself on Asher’s lap, trying to jostle him as little as possible. I saw him grit his teeth anyway.

“Didn’t realize you were any good at lap dances,” he commented.

“I don’t know what a lap dance is, Asher,” I said, distracted, “but if this is it—” I swiveled my body so that my feet pressed against the door, and my arms were braced against the center console, “then I maintain that you humans are strange.”

I pulled my foot back. “Oh, and this might hurt.” I slammed the heel of my shoe into the door.

Asher groaned along with the car as the door opened the span of another knuckle, the metal digging into his skin as it slowly withdrew its hold. I kicked the door again, and again, and again, each blow opening it a bit further. All the while, I avoided looking at Asher, who was panting through his clenched teeth.

My arm throbbed in protest, but icy determination overrode the pain.

On the seventh kick, I heard Asher’s breath leave him.

“It’s off me,” he said. “I can move.”

“Can you climb through the window?”

“I’ll be fine.”

I’d heard that line so many times. Famous Infernarus pride. It took me a moment to realize Jame wasn’t an Infernarus.

Just one more way we’re not nearly so different as we’d imagined.

He refused to let me help him exit the vehicle—again, a trait I was familiar with—his leg bleeding all over the car as he dragged himself out.