Arabella didn't just stop there. Turning one of Morpheus's hands useless was satisfying, yes, but nowhere near enough. The flicker of victory she felt was fleeting, because she knew all too well that Morpheus could heal, and that his healing power wasn't derived from normal witchery.
His healing was unnatural, almost grotesque in its efficiency, and she had seen the confidence in his eyes every time he struck her. A man like him who needed her, who knew how to use her, would not attack so carelessly, so relentlessly, unless he was absolutely certain he could mend the damage he delivered. He wouldn't risk breaking her unless he was sure he could fix her.
