I woke up three hours later feeling like death.
Not metaphorical death. Actual, physical death might be preferable to whatever was happening inside my body right now.
The poison wasn't gone, not completely.
I could feel it. Residual traces moving through my bloodstream like tiny shards of glass, every pulse of my heart spread it further, and with it came waves of nausea and pain that made me want to curl up and die.
The sigil on my wrist was going haywire, flickering between bright amber and sickly green, that definitely wasn't normal.
I tried to stand, made it approximately two steps before my legs gave out and I hit the floor hard enough to rattle my teeth.
"Fuck," I gasped.
The bedroom door slammed open.
Azryth took one look at me crumpled on the floor and crossed the room in three strides.
"Why didn't you call for me?" He was already checking me over, hands moving with practiced efficiency. "The binding should have alerted me that you were in distress."
"Didn't want to bother you," I managed through clenched teeth. "You were busy, making threats, burning things."
"Idiot." But there was no heat in it, his hand pressed against my forehead, then pulled back quickly. "You're burning up."
"Feels more like freezing."
"That's the poison, I didn't get all of it." His jaw tightened. "The extraction was too quick, some of it fragmented, spread deeper into your system before I could pull it out."
"Is that bad?"
"It's very bad." He scooped me up, again, I was really getting tired of being carried around like luggage, and put me back on the bed. "The fragments are degrading your immune response, if left untreated, they'll reach your vital organs within hours."
"Hours. Great. Love that timeline."
"I need to do a deeper extraction." He was already rolling up his sleeves, symbols starting to form around his hands. "The kind that requires direct contact with the infected bloodstream."
"How direct are we talking?"
He met my eyes. "Very."
Something about his expression made my stomach drop. "Define very."
"Skin-to-skin contact, sustained, I'll need to channel demonic fire directly into your circulatory system to burn out the remaining toxin." He sat on the edge of the bed. "It's going to be significantly more painful than the first extraction."
"How is that possible? The first one felt like dying."
"This will feel like dying while on fire." He said it so matter-of-factly. "But it's the only way to ensure I get all the poison before it causes permanent damage."
I looked at him, at his serious expression, at the symbols already glowing around his hands.
"Do I have a choice?"
"You always have a choice." His voice softened slightly. "But your options are: let me do this and survive in agony, or refuse and die in slightly less agony."
"Those are terrible options."
"Yes."
I took a shaky breath. Another. "Okay, do it."
"You need to remove your shirt."
"What?"
"The fire needs direct access to your skin, specifically your chest, where the poison is concentrating near your heart." He was completely clinical about it. "I'll need to place my hands directly over your sternum and channel the energy through."
Oh. Oh no.
This was going to be so much worse than I thought.
With trembling hands, I pulled off my shirt, the cool air hit my skin, raising goosebumps. I felt exposed and vulnerable.
Azryth's expression didn't change, completely professional, like this was just another business transaction.
Except his eyes lingered for just a moment on the sigil, which had somehow spread during the poison's progression, what had been a mark on my wrist now extended up my forearm in delicate, glowing lines.
"The binding is trying to fight the poison," he said quietly. "But it doesn't have the power, that's why it's spreading, reaching for more of your life force to combat the infection."
"Will this hurt it? The binding?"
"No. If anything, this will strengthen it." He shifted position, kneeling on the bed beside me. "The shared energy, the physical contact, the trust required, all of it feeds the binding."
So not only was I about to experience supernatural agony, I was also going to make our magical marriage stronger in the process.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No. But do it anyway."
He placed both hands flat on my chest, directly over my heart.
The contact was immediate and overwhelming, his palms were hot, much hotter than human skin should be, I could feel my heartbeat against his hands, feel his heartbeat through the binding.
"This is going to hurt," he warned again. "Try not to move, if you disrupt the flow, I might miss some of the poison."
"How long will it take?"
"As long as it takes." His eyes met mine. "Don't pass out, I need you conscious for this, your active participation helps guide the fire."
"How do I participate?"
"Feel it, feel where the poison is inside you, and guide my fire toward it." He took a breath. "On three. One.."
Fire erupted from his hands.
Not real fire. Not the kind that burns and destroys, this was something else, something that felt like fire but moved like liquid, pouring from his palms into my chest.
It didn't burn my skin, it went deeper.
I felt it enter my bloodstream, flowing through my veins like molten metal. Searching, hunting, finding the fragments of poison and consuming them with prejudice.
The pain was indescribable.
It felt like every cell in my body was being individually set on fire and then reconstructed, like my blood was boiling, like my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest.
I screamed, couldn't help it.
Azryth's hands pressed down harder, keeping contact. "I know. I know it hurts, but stay with me."
"I can't.."
"You can." His voice was steady. Grounding. "Feel the poison, where is it concentrated?"
I tried to focus through the agony, tried to sense what he was talking about.
There, in my chest, near my lungs, a cluster of dark fragments that the fire was having trouble reaching.
"Left side," I gasped. "Near my ribs."
The fire shifted immediately, flowing toward where I'd indicated, it found the poison cluster and attacked it viciously.