palm of his hand. Dim light from the single security lamp hit the coin and flashed golden brilliance into his eyes.
The world blurred.
Everything but the coin: that was clear and crisp to his sight. Mike's pulse thundered in his ears, in the cavity between them. His pulse slowed, and boomed in the cavernous place he now seemed to inhabit. BOOM, the hollow sound rang, and a net of crazed red lines sprang up in his vision. BOOM, and they pulsed, now bright, now dim, against a darker red background. BOOM, and that same brilliant golden light flared in the middle of the net.
Mike realized he was staring at his hand. Not the skin, as he was used to it, roughened and scarred by years of hard work, both in and out of the gym. No, the vessels and muscles that lay under that workaday skin of his. He saw scar tissue where he'd cut his finger real deep as a kid, the broken or dislocated joints he'd suffered before he'd learned not to hit people in the head.
The coin flashed again, filling Mike's vision with gold, blinding him.
When he could see again, Mike looked at Yasmin. Her face was still there: the same olive skin, the same eyes shut tight with pain, the same mark on her cheek now deepening to an ugly purple in the dim light, with a thread of vivid crimson tracking down her face. Under it all, though, he saw her tissues. Her blood flashed in pulses timed with her heartbeat.
Unthinking, Mike rubbed the thumb of his hand over the bruise on her face. His other hand - the one holding the coin - slid around to cup the back of her head. Obeying some prompt he didn't understand, and wasn't even fully conscious of, and without moving a muscle, Mike pushed.
He gasped as his heart stuttered in his chest. His pulse raced to match time with Yasmin's, and all his muscles clenched at once. Physically, it was like when he went for a max weight lift at the gym, like he threw everything he had into one punch. Every muscle fired at once, driving toward a single goal.
Emotionally it was very, very different. Everything fell away: the smells of the street, the sounds of the city at night, the feel of Yasmin's skin and hair. All was stillness but for pure will, driving toward that same singular goal.
And like that, it was over.
Mike rocked back on his heels, drained. He looked around, gaze wandering, taking in everything, but seeing very little. The nameless warrior stood just to one side, watching Mike with an unblinking stare. Not a little disconcerting, actually.
"Mr. Runey?" Yasmin stared up at Mike, her dark eyes lustrous in the half light. Confusion and just a bit of fear filled her voice. Mike realized with a start that her head still rested in his hand. She looked much smaller now than she had when he'd been the one on the floor. "What are you doing here?"
"W-w-what d-do you remember?" The warrior asked, his voice as intent as his expression.
Yasmin lifted one hand and ran it over the back of her head. Her fingers stilled when they met Mike's. Her questioning gaze probed deep into his.
"I remember Sergeant Timmons bursting through the door. I remember he looked sweaty and feverish, all hunched over. I remember chasing after him, yelling at him to let me help him. And then-" She paled, her face shadowing with remembered horror. "Oh, God. That, that thing came out of his mouth and he tore his shirt off and there were more things on his chest." She closed her eyes and shuddered. "And then he hit me, and I blacked out."
"How do you feel?" Mike asked, his voice rough with sympathy.
"Good. Very good, actually."
"Do you hurt anywhere?"
"No." The word was music to Mike's ears. He was sure she should have a concussion from impacting the wall. At least, maybe serious skull damage. "I should, but I don't. Why is that?"
"Him," the warrior pointed at Mike. Wonder suffused his voice. "H-he's a healer."
Mike knew it was true, though he didn't understand it in the least.
"And, if y-you can m-manage it again," the warrior said with a wry
The world blurred.
Everything but the coin: that was clear and crisp to his sight. Mike's pulse thundered in his ears, in the cavity between them. His pulse slowed, and boomed in the cavernous place he now seemed to inhabit. BOOM, the hollow sound rang, and a net of crazed red lines sprang up in his vision. BOOM, and they pulsed, now bright, now dim, against a darker red background. BOOM, and that same brilliant golden light flared in the middle of the net.
Mike realized he was staring at his hand. Not the skin, as he was used to it, roughened and scarred by years of hard work, both in and out of the gym. No, the vessels and muscles that lay under that workaday skin of his. He saw scar tissue where he'd cut his finger real deep as a kid, the broken or dislocated joints he'd suffered before he'd learned not to hit people in the head.
The coin flashed again, filling Mike's vision with gold, blinding him.
When he could see again, Mike looked at Yasmin. Her face was still there: the same olive skin, the same eyes shut tight with pain, the same mark on her cheek now deepening to an ugly purple in the dim light, with a thread of vivid crimson tracking down her face. Under it all, though, he saw her tissues. Her blood flashed in pulses timed with her heartbeat.
Unthinking, Mike rubbed the thumb of his hand over the bruise on her face. His other hand - the one holding the coin - slid around to cup the back of her head. Obeying some prompt he didn't understand, and wasn't even fully conscious of, and without moving a muscle, Mike pushed.
He gasped as his heart stuttered in his chest. His pulse raced to match time with Yasmin's, and all his muscles clenched at once. Physically, it was like when he went for a max weight lift at the gym, like he threw everything he had into one punch. Every muscle fired at once, driving toward a single goal.
Emotionally it was very, very different. Everything fell away: the smells of the street, the sounds of the city at night, the feel of Yasmin's skin and hair. All was stillness but for pure will, driving toward that same singular goal.
And like that, it was over.
Mike rocked back on his heels, drained. He looked around, gaze wandering, taking in everything, but seeing very little. The nameless warrior stood just to one side, watching Mike with an unblinking stare. Not a little disconcerting, actually.
"Mr. Runey?" Yasmin stared up at Mike, her dark eyes lustrous in the half light. Confusion and just a bit of fear filled her voice. Mike realized with a start that her head still rested in his hand. She looked much smaller now than she had when he'd been the one on the floor. "What are you doing here?"
"W-w-what d-do you remember?" The warrior asked, his voice as intent as his expression.
Yasmin lifted one hand and ran it over the back of her head. Her fingers stilled when they met Mike's. Her questioning gaze probed deep into his.
"I remember Sergeant Timmons bursting through the door. I remember he looked sweaty and feverish, all hunched over. I remember chasing after him, yelling at him to let me help him. And then-" She paled, her face shadowing with remembered horror. "Oh, God. That, that thing came out of his mouth and he tore his shirt off and there were more things on his chest." She closed her eyes and shuddered. "And then he hit me, and I blacked out."
"How do you feel?" Mike asked, his voice rough with sympathy.
"Good. Very good, actually."
"Do you hurt anywhere?"
"No." The word was music to Mike's ears. He was sure she should have a concussion from impacting the wall. At least, maybe serious skull damage. "I should, but I don't. Why is that?"
"Him," the warrior pointed at Mike. Wonder suffused his voice. "H-he's a healer."
Mike knew it was true, though he didn't understand it in the least.
"And, if y-you can m-manage it again," the warrior said with a wry
Similar Books
When You're Ready
Britni Danielle
Selected Writings (Dario, Ruben)
Rubén Darío
Sweet Agony (Sweet Series Book 1)
Jessie Lane
The Avenger 9 - Tuned for Murder
Kenneth Robeson
Body Work
Bonnie Edwards
Of Beetles and Angels
Mawi Asgedom
On Beauty
Zadie Smith
Never Never: Part Three (Never Never #3)
Colleen Hoover, Tarryn Fisher
Line War
Neal Asher