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mad at her. She didn’t want anybody that mad at her.
    Tiago walked back to the bed. She could have sworn she heard a rumble of thunder in the distance. He squatted by the bed and rubbed her shoulder with a giant calloused hand. “Where are you hurt, faerie?”
    His gentleness was so unexpected, coming as it did from such a wrathful clenched-fist face, that it almost did her in. Her eyes filled with tears. She gestured to her side.
    Icy shock ran over his skin, followed by a blast of heat. Tiago didn’t know where to put his rage. That bastard Fae hadn’t punched her in the alley. He had knifed her.
    “Let me have a look.” He tried to raise her T-shirt.
    She resisted. “I already cleaned and bandaged it.”
    He exploded. “Goddammit, woman! I said let me have a fucking look!”
    Her eyes went wide and she froze. The force of his anger was palpable. It beat against her skin. Thunder rolled, this time closer. It was almost overhead.
    She had heard the stories about Tiago. The thunder and lightning came when he really lost it. Cautiously she uncurled. She made herself lie passive as she stared up at him. Sometimes with dominant Wyr warriors the best thing you could do was stay quiet and get out of their way—or in this case, acquiesce. Sooner or later their rampaging always ground to a halt, and then they could listen to reason again.
    He put one knee on the bed and leaned his weight on it as he lifted up her T-shirt. The bandage covered her ribs under her left breast. She winced as he peeled back the bandage to look at what was underneath.
    “Do you know how irritating you are?” she said. “Because if you don’t, I’ve got time.”
    “This looks deep,” he said in a quiet voice. Lightning flashed outside. Thunder exploded with a boom. She jumped and shivered. He put his hand briefly against her narrow waist. “ Shh now, be easy. The dressing is soaked. I’ll change the bandage.”
    She knuckled her eyes. Damn it. She hadn’t slept in two days. She was starting to come down from the singing part of the drunk. He was acting far too serious and concerned, a storm was brewing outside, and all the fun was packing its bags and ditching the party. She tried to hold on to it.
    “You know, technology in the twenty-first century is pretty cool,” she told him. “I’m going to DVR my own meltdown and email it to my therapist.”
    He didn’t so much as crack a smile.
    She drooped. She uncurled as he urged her to lie flat. He removed the soiled bandage, and with a careful, velvet-light touch he cleaned the wound and covered it with cotton padding again. At one point he bent down close to her skin and sniffed the wound. Okay, so that looked a little weird, but she knew what he was doing; he was checking with his Wyr sense of smell to see if he could detect poison. He caught her eye afterward and gave her a tight, quick smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but he didn’t speak. He seemed busy with his own internal issues. Lightning struck the parking lot. Her shivering deepened. That was just downright sexy. No, spooky. No, sexy. DAMN IT!
    “All right, I’m all done for now,” he said. His soft, even voice was somehow so much worse than his yelling voice. He taped the bandage in place. Then he looked at her, and the fury in his dark eyes stabbed her. “We know everything that matters.”
    She rubbed the pointed tip of one ear, which was burning in embarrassment. “Apparently the whole world does,” she muttered. “I never even saw the guy with the cell phone.”
    “That asshole is going to be lucky to live out the week if I have anything to say about it. I can’t fucking believe he didn’t call 911 soon as he realized someone was being attacked.” He took her hand and held it. “Now I want you to tell me, why didn’t you call, and why do you want me to go home?”
    She pulled her hand away and tucked it against her chest. “Don’t be nice to me.”
    “I’ll be whatever the hell I want to