He shook his head and nodded toward the mirror. "Tell methat's all right, Damali."
The gasp escaped before she could cover her mouth with her hand. Horrified, she couldn't turn away from their reflection. Silver tears were in her husband's eyes, and her throat had been mauled. She leaned forward to get closer to the mirror, turning slightly to better examine the side of her neck, when she noticed the shoulder bruises from his grip.
"Honey, put me down," she whispered, "so I can see how bad it is. Baby, this wasn't your fault. It was... it was..."
Damali held on to the sink, at a loss for words as Carlos let her down slowly to stand, and she looked at the loose flap of skin that bunched around crimson, angry flesh within a black-and-blue knot. Instant pain shot through her, just seeing it.
"Don't," he whispered, as she leaned closer to the mirror and moved the flap with her finger.
"Holy shit," she said, swallowing hard, and holding on to his arm. "I think I'm gonna be sick. Ohmigod, I saw a vein. Oh, shit, I'm go�ing into shock; that's why I can't feel anything. Ohmigod, ohmigod, I've never been battle nicked in the throat in my f**king life, ohmigod-this ain't a neat love-bite puncture. Move."
She went to the toilet in a wobbly path and hurled, clutching cold porcelain and breathing deeply as he held her up, rubbing her back. Hot coursing silver was running down her thighs. She was freaked out; he was freaked out, but she tried to play it off to help him deal af�ter she finished vomiting, her words coming out in a shaky rasp. "I'm bleeding silver, so I guess I'll be okay."
Panic had put a sheen on his brow, and he held her more closely as he inspected her throat again. "No. Just red-"
"Look down," she said, pointing at her legs with her eyes squeezed shut.
"I gotta get you to a hospital, you're hem-"
"No!" she said, breathing hard and holding up her hand while leaning against him. "That's painkiller." She tried to smile before her husband flatlined with a very human coronary. "I asked you were you cumming white lightning, but shit. If you hadn't, I'd be in ICU."
"Damali, I swear I'm either taking you outta here to Marlene or to an ER buck na**d if I have to and-"
"Stop," she said, leaning her cheek against his chest. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. A girl's gotta learn how to take a battle bite, sooner or later."
"What? Bound to happen sooner or later! This ain't nothing to joke around about, Damali. I'm your husband and I f**king bit you like-"
"Baby, just get me about a quart of water and let me sit down be�fore I fall down."
"All right, all right," he said, picking her up very carefully but rushing to the side of the bed and then handling her like fragile glass as he deposited her on it. "Water. Right. Anything else? Talk to me."
"A banana, potassium. Garlic, an antiseptic in case any unwanted vamp buggies came with the bite. And bring me my purse. Mar taught me well. I always roll with a little somethin' something in there-a small vial of holy water, purified Red Sea salt, white sage, and anointing oil." She curled into a ball on her good side and panted through her mouth. "You were right. This shit hurts like hell."
"You're gonna try to do this purgeyourself?" He stood in the bed�room door, incredulous, torn between going to the kitchen or her, un�able to leave her immediately to go get what she'd requested.
"No," she murmured, suddenly becoming very sluggish. "We are one flesh now, so I'm gonna talk you through some serious female shaman healing arts, and you're gonna be my hands and strength."
She didn't have to tell him twice. He ran through the villa filling his arms with her antidotes and then found her purse and dashed back. On his knees beside the bed he dumped the full payload on the sheets and stared down at the gaping wound in her neck.
"Oh, God, Damali..." he whispered as he roused her. "It tore right over the first bite I gave you... that first time." He swallowed hard. "That was your sweet spot, baby."
"If we work fast, it might still be there," she said quietly. "If it doesn't keloid."
Carlos closed his eyes. "Tell me what I've gotta do."
"Clean it out."
He just stared at her.
"Old-school, honey," she said, reaching for his hand. "Don't worry. I'm in no danger of turning at my age, and you aren't all vamp. It's just gonna hurt like a mutha, but you know how to do this."
"I don't know if I can do this-I don't wanna hurt you any more than I already did."
Damali braced herself. "I'll be okay. Go ahead. Pour the holy water into the wound until it sizzles. Pack it down with salt; then make the sign of your faith-which in our case is the crucifix-over it, cover�ing the length and width of the wound with anointing oil-using your right hand as you say a passage from the Good Book... Then I want you to put my silver collar on to keep the burn going. The gar�lic and potassium is for me, and some mouthwash wouldn't hurt... neither would a trash can if I barf again. Light the white sage and ask for healing as you circle my body three times. Simple. Then, with anointed hands and a whole lotta love in your spirit, touch me wher�ever it looks real ugly and try to draw the bruised blood under my skin up and out. All right?"
He nodded, but was anything but all right, especially when she cried out. His whole body was shaking from sympathy pains by the time he was done. She lay there limp in a hot sweat, the wound leak�ing pinkish, sizzling ooze from beneath the silver collar, and he was practically rocking in a cold sweat from hurting her so badly. She took the mouthwash from the bedside table and swished her mouth out and spit in the wastebasket. He grabbed the trash can and lost his din�ner into it.
"Jesus Christ, I don't know what came over me, D... If you want a divorce, I can dig it. No contest. We don't even have to discuss it." He was talking quickly into the trash, fighting off dry heaves. When he looked up, he expected her face to be twisted into a hurt frown of disgust, but instead her eyes were serene and steady.