Josiah had warned her, so she’d been braced when she’d checked her appearance in the small mirror. And it wasn’t as bad as she had imagined.

It was a lot worse. Half her head was soaked in blood. Her cheek was swelling, and it looked like it had been abraded with a cheese grater.

She whispered to her image, “No jury in the world would have convicted you. You should have gotten whatever he had beaten you with and thrown it beside his body.”

Then, possibly, it might have looked like she had used Austin’s own weapon to fight back, especially since nobody from her old life knew about her burgeoning Power. Except there was no good way to explain what had happened to his BMW.

At least now if anybody questioned her, she could claim she had no idea what had happened, as long as nobody laid eyes on her until she healed.

She turned on the faucets. Pain flared again when she stepped under the warm flow of water. Injuries throbbed, and her torn skin stung like a bitch. But avoiding discomfort wasn’t an option, so she sucked it up and washed herself as best she could.

By the time she’d finished, she was so exhausted she gladly leaned against Josiah as he helped her into the bedroom. Then she sat forward, elbows braced on knees with her head bent while he plugged in a hair dryer and turned it on her, running long fingers gently through the wet strands.

He had to use his hand because he didn’t have a hairbrush, or at least she hadn’t found one in the bathroom. The repetitive motion was incredibly soothing. Soon her eyes closed. Against the blackness of her inner lids, she thought of what he had looked like when he had cast the healing spells.

He had started speaking in the foreign-sounding language again. It sounded elegant in his dark, low voice, imbued with Power and tense with a meaning that escaped her. Was it Russian?

No matter how she’d tried to concentrate, the words shot away like sparks flying out from the strike of a blacksmith’s hammer, and the spells took shape in the forge of his magic.

She had never seen or heard anything so compelling in her life. Then the pain from the healing spells had driven everything else out.

He ran his hand through her hair one last time before turning the hair dryer off. “That should do.”

“Thank you.” She tested the hair at the back of her head. It was perfectly dry, and she felt warm all over.

“You’re welcome.” He took the dryer away and returned with another glass of water and an ibuprofen bottle. Shaking out some pills, he offered them to her.