illness.”
She gave a lift of one shoulder. “Cancer isn’t a punishment. It’s a common disease among humans.”
The dark eyes flared with fury at what he considered a curse by resentful deities.
“Death has invaded my body. I tried all the usual treatments.” His lips twisted with bitter anger. “I even went to a Nostrum clinic.”
Bailey blinked in surprise. Nostrum clinics were unsanctioned, backroom hospitals run by high-bloods who claimed they could heal everything from infertility to death.
Valhalla did their best to keep them from popping up, of course. Not the least of which was tossing a healer caught providing treatment to a human into prison for life. But as long as there was money to be made, there would always be unethical people willing to take advantage of the desperate.
“Then you must realize there’s nothing more to be done,” she said.
“I haven’t finished my story.”
She made a sound of impatience. God. This wasn’t War and Peace .
“Then finish.”
He stiffened, that unnerving fervor flaring through his eyes at her sharp tone.
“Apologize,” he snapped.
Bailey didn’t hesitate as Robert lifted his hand, clearly eager to dole out more punishment.
“I’m sorry.”
A taunting smile twisted his lips. “It’s nice to know you can be trained.” He waved off the goon. “Shall I continue?”
“Yes.”
Smoothing his hands down his robe, he began to pace the cramped space, seeming to enjoy the sound of his own voice.
“A doctor suggested that I have regular blood transfusions to stave off the inevitable,” he said. Bailey nodded. She wasn’t fully familiar with human treatments, but it seemed she’d heard there were some drugs that suppressed the formation of blood platelets. “Luckily I had a brother who could provide what I needed.”
She couldn’t hide her shock. “The brother you shunned because he was a high-blood?”
Limburg shrugged. The bastard was clearly undisturbed by the thought he’d treated his brother like he was trash, then demanded his help when he needed him.
“I’ll admit that I briefly considered my previous belief that I would rather be dead than to contaminate my body with anything that came from a freak. Thankfully, my lust for life was greater than my hatred of your people.”
Bailey blinked.
Wow. Just . . . wow.
“And your brother agreed?” she demanded.
“Not at first. He had to be convinced to do his family duty.”
“You forced him.”
Limburg waved a hand toward the goon. “Robert provided incentive for him to agree to my demands.”
Bailey grimaced. Of course he did.
“Nice.”
“It offered some relief, but I was still dying. And then one day Robert became . . .” He paused, as if searching for the proper word. “Overly enthusiastic.”
Robert gave a short, humorless laugh. “It happens.”
Bailey pressed against the wall, desperately wanting to put some distance between herself and the looming brute.
“What does that mean?” she breathed.
“While he was convincing my brother to help, he accidentally broke his neck.” He spoke as if he was discussing a shattered teacup. “We had to find a healer to keep him alive.”
Limburg’s stark lack of emotion was . . . stunning.
She shuddered. “Good God.”
Limburg smiled. “Yes, it was indeed an answer from the gods.”
“Because you nearly killed your brother?”
“He was still in the process of being healed when my private doctor performed the blood transfusion,” the man explained. “Instantly I began to feel better.”
“The transfusion—”
“It was more than that,” he interrupted, suddenly annoyed. “My vitals improved, my constant pain eased, and I was able to keep down a meal for the first time in weeks. Then, as the days passed, we realized my cancer had slowed.”
She frowned. “It must have been a coincidence,” she said, although inside she was assuming that it had to be the placebo effect.
“No.” His hand slashed through
She gave a lift of one shoulder. “Cancer isn’t a punishment. It’s a common disease among humans.”
The dark eyes flared with fury at what he considered a curse by resentful deities.
“Death has invaded my body. I tried all the usual treatments.” His lips twisted with bitter anger. “I even went to a Nostrum clinic.”
Bailey blinked in surprise. Nostrum clinics were unsanctioned, backroom hospitals run by high-bloods who claimed they could heal everything from infertility to death.
Valhalla did their best to keep them from popping up, of course. Not the least of which was tossing a healer caught providing treatment to a human into prison for life. But as long as there was money to be made, there would always be unethical people willing to take advantage of the desperate.
“Then you must realize there’s nothing more to be done,” she said.
“I haven’t finished my story.”
She made a sound of impatience. God. This wasn’t War and Peace .
“Then finish.”
He stiffened, that unnerving fervor flaring through his eyes at her sharp tone.
“Apologize,” he snapped.
Bailey didn’t hesitate as Robert lifted his hand, clearly eager to dole out more punishment.
“I’m sorry.”
A taunting smile twisted his lips. “It’s nice to know you can be trained.” He waved off the goon. “Shall I continue?”
“Yes.”
Smoothing his hands down his robe, he began to pace the cramped space, seeming to enjoy the sound of his own voice.
“A doctor suggested that I have regular blood transfusions to stave off the inevitable,” he said. Bailey nodded. She wasn’t fully familiar with human treatments, but it seemed she’d heard there were some drugs that suppressed the formation of blood platelets. “Luckily I had a brother who could provide what I needed.”
She couldn’t hide her shock. “The brother you shunned because he was a high-blood?”
Limburg shrugged. The bastard was clearly undisturbed by the thought he’d treated his brother like he was trash, then demanded his help when he needed him.
“I’ll admit that I briefly considered my previous belief that I would rather be dead than to contaminate my body with anything that came from a freak. Thankfully, my lust for life was greater than my hatred of your people.”
Bailey blinked.
Wow. Just . . . wow.
“And your brother agreed?” she demanded.
“Not at first. He had to be convinced to do his family duty.”
“You forced him.”
Limburg waved a hand toward the goon. “Robert provided incentive for him to agree to my demands.”
Bailey grimaced. Of course he did.
“Nice.”
“It offered some relief, but I was still dying. And then one day Robert became . . .” He paused, as if searching for the proper word. “Overly enthusiastic.”
Robert gave a short, humorless laugh. “It happens.”
Bailey pressed against the wall, desperately wanting to put some distance between herself and the looming brute.
“What does that mean?” she breathed.
“While he was convincing my brother to help, he accidentally broke his neck.” He spoke as if he was discussing a shattered teacup. “We had to find a healer to keep him alive.”
Limburg’s stark lack of emotion was . . . stunning.
She shuddered. “Good God.”
Limburg smiled. “Yes, it was indeed an answer from the gods.”
“Because you nearly killed your brother?”
“He was still in the process of being healed when my private doctor performed the blood transfusion,” the man explained. “Instantly I began to feel better.”
“The transfusion—”
“It was more than that,” he interrupted, suddenly annoyed. “My vitals improved, my constant pain eased, and I was able to keep down a meal for the first time in weeks. Then, as the days passed, we realized my cancer had slowed.”
She frowned. “It must have been a coincidence,” she said, although inside she was assuming that it had to be the placebo effect.
“No.” His hand slashed through
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