"Out."
Ully frowned but obeyed. Katie sat up, wondering why her hand didn't hurt. It shook, and she was even colder.
"I don't know what you are, but I couldn't heal you. You owe Gabriel one," the silver- haired man said. He squatted beside her, wrapping her arm in a clean white towel before he rose and strode to the desk along the far wall. He picked up what looked like a medical file and became as still as the death dealer, as if forgetting her presence completely.
Her eyes skimmed his perfect, buff body before the pain in her hand finally registered. She tugged off her wool coat with some effort. Blood soaked her towel, and she stood.
"Do you have a restroom?"
He jabbed his thumb toward the wall behind him, where she made out the slender nickel doorknob in the space between two shelves of ancient books. He didn't acknowledge her as she entered the surprisingly large bathroom. She winced and pulled the towel free then turned on the water as hot as she could stand. She stared at herself in the mirror, wondering when she'd started looking like a pound dog. She glanced down to watch the blood stream down the drain then held up her arm.
It was healed, just as he said.
She flipped both hands front and back and looked at the blood-soaked towel and the sleeve of her sweater. Her hands both worked. With a sigh, she cleaned up the area as well as she could and pulled off the sweater, as it was warm enough in the study with her T-shirt.
She looked like shit. There were dark circles beneath her light eyes, her hair was in a half-assed lumpy ponytail, and her face was so pale and drawn, she looked ill.
Was this what crazy looked like? She breathed out another sigh and righted her ponytail, then splashed water on her face. Emerging from the bathroom, she was confronted by a pacing Ully.
"I, uh, dropped your blood sample," he said with a glance at the figure with his back toward them both. "Could I get another?"
She handed him the towel. He hesitated, then took it and left. The silver-haired man made no move at all.
"I need --"
"Have a seat."
His order was calm, the slight accent in his voice foreign. She stared at the back of his head, a chill running through her. Her move toward the fire was reflected in a small mirror behind the desk in front of which he stood.