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What dark power gripped him that he would attack her when she was only trying to help him?
    He began to settle again, his movements becoming less frantic, weaker as his strength faded.
    “I will not hurt you. I know you can hear me. I am only going to heal you.” Rosalind moved back to her knees beside him and swallowed hard.
    He slumped onto the bench, the tangled threads of his black hair sticking to the sweat on his brow.
    He looked fragile, but she wasn’t going to let that deceive her. This man was deranged.
    What sort of male could have not only moved with her healing spell ricocheting through his body and all the injuries that had remained, but managed to find the strength to bend thick steel bars and rake deep grooves into solid stone with only his nails?
    Not a sane one.
    Many of the dungeon’s residents had been here long enough to have gone mad and were normally noisy at night, but last night they had been silent while this man had raged.
    They had feared he would escape. The guards had feared too, exchanging meaningful glances as they punished her.
    She had feared too.
    This male had come here insane.
    What was he?
    She had thought vampire before, but now she wasn’t so sure.
    Rosalind reached slowly towards him. His lips were bloodstained too, a dark spot of it gathered by the corner of his hard mouth. Had he tried to bite the bars, or had the guards struck him to subdue him?
    His eyes flicked open and locked on her.
    She tensed, her heart pounding, fear pressing her to withdraw her hand before he attacked her. She kept it hovering in the air between them, refusing to let him bully her into shrinking away from him.
    “Hello again,” she whispered, keeping still and giving him time to adjust to her presence. He continued to stare at her, deep into her eyes, his blue-grey ones flat and dull. Lifeless. “They brought me to heal you. It seems you, um, hurt yourself.”
    He exhaled softly and blinked. A good sign? Mother earth, she hoped so.
    She hadn’t expected him to remain calm on hearing her voice. She had expected another replay of him attempting to break free of his bonds, most likely so he could kill her.
    “I need to touch you to heal you.”
    No response.
    During her time alone in her cell after her punishment, she had mulled over their entire first encounter, and had concluded that he hated anyone touching him. She had been entertaining theories about it all day. It wasn’t because she was a witch. He hadn’t known that at the time.
    “Can I touch you?” She wasn’t willing to risk her limbs by attempting to do such a thing without his consent.
    He clenched his fists and gave a curt nod.
    Rosalind took it as a green light, noting that he had steeled himself, mentally preparing for her touch.
    She shuffled closer, biting down on her tongue when her ribs protested and each mark on her back burned beneath her black dress.
    “Harmed you?” he croaked, his voice gravelly and deep. His eyes searched hers. “Heard you… cry. You hurt?”
    The stilted manner of his speech spoke to her of the incredible pain he endured, agony that she could see in his eyes, yet he was asking about her instead.
    She swallowed the lump in her throat, stifling the memories of her punishment, and forced a shrug. “No worse than usual.”
    “Usual?” Black eyebrows dipped low, narrowing eyes rapidly gaining a dark edge and obsidian blotches amidst the stormy blue-grey of his irises. What was he? “Beat… often?”
    He grated the words out from between clenched teeth and she saw his fangs were down. Maybe he was a vampire, or another form of fae. There were many in the world and a lot of them could take on a human appearance.
    “It no longer bothers me.” She plastered on a false smile, one she hoped would stop him from asking about it. “But… they do it often.”
    He growled so low that she only felt it as a rumble through her chest and then strained against his manacles, becoming so agitated that she feared