Page 27 of Hexbound

"I know. Here, drink this." Bishop poured her a glass of something and set the cup into her hands.

"What is it?"

"Poison."

Verity paused with the glass at her lips.

"Brandy," he corrected dryly, rolling his eyes. "What type of man do you think I am?"

"Someone without a sense of humor to this point," she admitted, watching those dark brows draw together as he returned his attention to the second gash along her ribs. Emotions rarely plagued his expression, but his eyes... they told a thousand stories, always. And with the gentle manner in which he pried her dress out of the crusted wound, she could almost imagine that seeing her injured bothered him.

Which was a curious thing.

What type of man was Adrian Bishop? She couldn't figure him out and that was a frightful thing. She knew he wanted her. She'd seen the way he looked at her at times. But he insisted there was no debt between them, and that he would help her... out of the goodness of his heart?

She knew men. She knew the way of the world. Bishop must have some sort of angle, and until she found it she was determined not to let her guard down.

"Hold still. This one is a little deeper." Bishop pressed his fingers lightly to her inflamed skin. "I'm not much of a Healer, but I know the rudimentaries."

The fire in the hearth flickered as Bishop drew energy from its heat and from the room around him. Not a single chill dampened her skin, however, which betrayed considerable skill. One that she didn't own herself, if she were being honest. Verity simply pulled in energy from everything around her.

What would it have been like to be tutored the way he clearly was? To learn the deft weave of sorcery?

Daniel Guthrie wouldn't have laughed in her face then; she'd have smashed him flat in under a second.Imagine the power....

Breathing out a power word, Bishop flexed his fingers and tightly woven threads of sorcery sank into her skin, a cold effervescent sensation that made her breath catch.

Then it was over. No pain, no raw, burning sensation in her side.

"Where did you learn to heal?" A few of the Hex had the talent, but every practitioner she knew hoarded their secrets, and she'd never known how to do it herself.

Bishop busied himself tidying up the bloodied linens and the pan of water he'd used. "The first thing we learn as Sicarii is how the body works, how to stop a heart, how to cause a clot in the brain, how to bruise, how to sprain. Healing is simply a reversal of such."

"So you're a Healer?"

"I'm an assassin, Miss Hawkins."

"Verity," she corrected dryly. "I believe us familiar enough now to use our names. I have seen you naked, after all." And an excellent sight it had been.

"I'll do you a deal. I won't mention your fit of vapors, if you don't mention that ice bath again. Ever."

"Only if you say my name," she told him.

Bishop rolled the bloodied linen up carefully, considering her words. "Verity," he finally said, and the way he said it made something wary clench up tight inside her. The way it sounded on his tongue... it sent a shiver of something unfamiliar through her.

Longing?

Now she knew why he'd hesitated. A simple word, but it held within it a sense of familiarity, of connection, that she hadn't expected. Verity cleared her throat. "Well, now," she said, forcing herself to be cheerful. "That wasn't so hard after all, was it?"

Bishop sighed. "I'll fetch you some supper."

"Wait!" She held her wrist up to him with the golden cuff he'd locked around her. "I want this off."

His lips thinned, as if in protest.

"I want it off," she demanded, sitting up. "After today, is it not clear that I can be trusted?"

"It's not so much a matter of trust," Bishop replied, then paused again.