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“Can you temporarily stop the bleeding?” I asked. “Because I need to do something before I go to the hospital.”

He frowned. “I don’t think that’s advisable. The blood flow to that flap has been damaged, and it could die if left too long. No amount of elven healing will fix it if that happens.”

“You can’t give it a quick tweak or something?”

His frown deepened. “What is so important that you’d risk the prospect of a healed but craterous wound on your back?”

“I’m a pixie?—”

“I’m well aware of that, young lady, but?—”

“I caught and froze one of the men working with the elf responsible for the explosion,” I cut in. “If he survived, I need to release him. Otherwise, he’ll remain immobile, making it near impossible to treat him.”

Not to mention question him. Which I would do before they forced me into that ambulance. It might be my only chance before the IIT got their hands on him.

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll do what I can to repair and restore the vein, then I’ll accompany you to find this felon.”

“Good. Thanks.” I wanted to add “please hurry” but resisted. Light elves could be ornery at the best of times and likely to do the opposite of what you wanted if you pushed too hard.

Of course, they’d do it with a pleasant smile. It was one reason humans—who too often judged others by surface beauty rather than actions and deeds—thought the divinely beautiful light elves were a far nicer race than their dark counterparts.

The medic asked me to shuffle forward on the trolley, then sat behind me and lightly pressed his fingers on either side of the wound. His energy rose, a warmth that cut through the throbbing ache in my shoulder and eased the chill running down my arm. My fingers twitched as he lightly repaired muscle and nerves, and a tingling sensation soon replaced the odd numbness in my fingers.

“Right,” he said, with a heavy sigh, “I’ve gone as far as I dare. My patches are temporary and will not stand up to too much movement—as I said, I am no specialist and have no desire to make a wrong nerve or muscle connection. Where is this stranger?”

“He was close to the old oak that hangs over the wall just down the road, but I’m not sure where he is now. The blast would have thrown him back toward Stanley Place, though.”

“Let’s check then, so we can get you to the hospital.”

He gripped my elbow to steady me as I slid off the trolley, then collected his bag and followed me out of the ambulance.

Cynwrig appeared around the corner of the ambulance. “Franklyn, what’s going on? Why haven’t you whisked Beth off to the hospital yet?”

“Because this young woman refuses to be whisked. Perhaps you can talk some sense into her?”

“Sorry, but that’s generally a useless endeavor when she has her mind set on a particular course of action.” His smoky gaze rested on mine, a warm mix of amusement and concern evident. “Dare I ask what that course of action might be here?”

“I captured one of the men who attacked me. If he’s alive, we can question him.”

“I do not believe questioning him was mentioned during our conversation.” Franklyn glanced at me. “Is that not the task of the police or the IIT?”

“Well, yes, but?—”

“Five people were likely killed in that blast,” Cynwrig broke in quietly. “I can and will find those responsible, but Beth’s captive might be our best chance to do so before anything else happens.”

Franklyn raised an eyebrow. “Revenge is a dark path, Lord Lùtair, and one I thought you’d sworn never to tread again.”

My eyebrows rose. Despite Franklyn’s use of Cynwrig’s official title, the two men obviously knew each other very well.

“This is different?—”

“It is always different.” Franklyn shrugged. “Your choice, your decision, my lord. Shall we proceed?”

Cynwrig nodded curtly and glanced at me. The warmth I’d noticed earlier had fled, replaced by anger and dangerous ghosts from the past.

I wanted to ask him about those ghosts, because I’d seen them once before, but this was neither the time nor the place. I turned and walked down the road, Cynwrig on one side and Franklyn on the other. We hadn’t gone very far when I spotted my prisoner lying along the base of the old wall on the opposite side of the road. He wasn’t moving, but his expression said everything he verbally couldn’t. He hadn’t escaped the blast unharmed, though. His jacket was torn, there was a jagged bit of metal sticking out of his thigh, and his right boot was missing, although all his toes appeared intact.

“That’s him, I take it?” Franklyn said.