Her brow knitted at the way his hands tenderly moved over Nykyrian's body. Nykyrian didn't protest in the least. Instead of snapping at Rachol, he just looked down at him.

Rachol cursed before moving away. Kiara went cold as she realized Rachol's hands were covered in blood."How'd you reopen the damn thing?" he barked at Nykyrian.

Kiara walked forward, wanting to help, her stomach twisting over the wound.

At her movement, Nykyrian faced her. "Go away," he snarled, baring his teeth to her.

Swallowing her fear at his reaction, she ran down the hallway to her room, tears streaming down her face.

"That wasn't necessary," Rachol said, pushing Nykyrian toward the couch.

Nykyrian didn't say anything. It took all his concentration just to remain conscious from the throbbing, heated agony splitting his side. Breathing was getting harder by the heartbeat.

He tensed as Rachol struck a nerve, but said nothing. He thought about what he'd said to Kiara and wished he could take it back. But then, there were many things he regretted.

He could use the pain as an excuse, but that was all it would be- an excuse. Nykyrian clenched his teeth at his stupidity. What did it matter?

"I'm going to give you some Synethol," Rachol said, straightening up. "I know you hate it, but it'll help you heal a lot faster and this is one time I can't afford for you to be nursing a wound."

Nykyrian nodded, knowing Rachol was right.

Wearily, he watched Rachol wipe the blood from his hands and rummage through his pack until he found the injector.

Rachol rolled back the sleeve of his shirt. Exposing the crook of Nykyrian's elbow, he positioned the injector over the skin. "I'll stay over tonight. I just hope Kiara has a sleeping bag." He pressed the trigger.

The needle bit into Nykyrian's arm and the thick syrup moved into his skin with painful slowness. He pulled his glasses off and handed them to Rachol. "Tell her I'm sorry for what I said" he whispered, the drug making his vision cloudy.

Rachol frowned at Nykyrian. It was the first time he had ever known Kip to apologize toanyone, for anything. What had he interrupted?

Tossing the injector back into his pack, he rechecked Nykyrian's bandage. A red stain was already creeping back through the white cloth. He cursed. The little dancer had almost cost Nykyrian his life and he would like to tear her into pieces for it.

Kip was the only family he had in this life and by God, he wasn't just going to lie back and watch the only friend/family he had ever known die because of some harita.

In an angry stride, Rachol walked down the hall to Kiara's room. He pounded on the door, using the wood as a good scapegoat for his mood.

"Come in."

Rachol heard the tears in her voice and hesitated, all the anger draining out of him. He'd always been a fool for a crying woman. Clenching his teeth, he opened the door.

Curled up into a small ball on the bed, she looked about as pitiful as anything he had ever seen, and he had seen a lot of misery growing up on the streets. He cleared his throat of the strange emotions gathered there to choke him. "I need to get some blankets or a sleeping bag or something."

With a sniff, she wiped the tears from her face. "Are you staying over tonight?"

He nodded.

She came to her feet and went to a closet across the room from him. Against his normal code to enter no one's threshold without an invitation, Rachol crossed the room.

Kiara handed him a pile of blankets and two pillows. "Nykyrian never asked for any,"

she whispered, her voice laced with more tears and agony than he could stand.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't ask for much, period, besides he doesn't usually sleep with covers."

Glumly, she nodded her head.

Rachol cursed under his breath. "Don't look at me with those doleful eyes. Geez, you remind me of a condemned man in court."

Tears fell down her cheeks. Rachol groaned and dropped the blankets. "C'mon," he said,leading her back to her bed. "Tell me what happened."

She gave him a startled, hurt look.

Rachol felt like a louse as he sat down on the mattress. Hell, he hadn't done anything wrong, why should he feel awful? "Kip wanted me to tell you he was sorry for whatever he said. Knowing him, it was probably something brutal, but don't take it to your soul.

When he's wounded, he's as snappish as a wild lorina."

Kiara's wide amber eyes watched him. Tears sparkled on her dark lashes. "What happened tonight?" she asked in a baleful whisper. "How did he get hurt?"

His anger built as he remembered their mission. Coming to his feet, Rachol paced beside her bed. "We went to meet with an informant. Unfortunately, some of Bredeh's dogs beat us to him. By the time we got there, the bastards had taken the guy's kid as hostage."

Needing to vent some of his anger, he slammed his fist into the wall. Pain erupted through his knuckles, numbing his hand, but it didn't help ease the ache in his conscience.

"Rachol?"

He couldn't mistake the fear in Kiara's voice as she stared at him with widened eyes.

"Sorry," he said in a half humble apology. "I just get so damned angry about life and how it plays that ..." His voice trailed off. He sighed wearily. "They killed the kid's dad right in front of him."

"Rachol, I'm sorry." Kiara left the bed and headed for him.

Rachol backed away and shook his head. "Don't touch me," he said, sidestepping her.

She held her hand to her mouth and appeared to be fighting off another round of tears.

"That's what Nykyrian said."

He nodded in understanding. "We're not really ogres," Rachol said, wondering why he bothered to explain anything to her.

She returned to her bed and sat cross-legged. Her large, pain-filled amber eyes stared at him. "You just don't like to be touched.""Exactly."

Her sobs racked her body and wrenched his soul. "Hey now, don't do that," he said, raking his hand through his hair. "Have pity on me, I can't stand a weeping female."

She clutched her pillow to her stomach and cried as if her heart were breaking. "But why, why can't I touch him, why can't I touch you?"

Rachol stood for a moment, trying to think of someway to make her understand. His gaze drifted to the shelf beside the door and the griata statuettes that lined it. Moving to them, he took one off the shelf.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Tell me what you see."

She looked at him as if he were crazed. "It's just one of my- "

"No, I mean really look at it."

He watched her graceful fingers play across the hard planes of the little boy standing beside his dog.

"When you hold it," he explained, "It's sharp, cold, and we both know griata is one of the hardest substances in existence."

She nodded, a tiny smile playing across her lips as she realized his point. "It's also the most brittle. One wrong hit on the wrong side and it crumbles into pieces."

Rachol turned away from her. "So nature has given griata a tiny shell that covers it to keep it safe. Before you can claim the treasure, you have to carefully remove the shield."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, reminding him of a little girl he knew a long time ago. "Part of your shell is not touching," she whispered.

"You got it. It's easy to stay distant if you don't rely on anyone for anything, including creature comforts like touching."

She cast him a doubting look. "Are you really that jaded?"

He shrugged. "I'm a lot more brittle than Kip. All things given proper credit, my life has been a hell of a lot easier than his. Instead of a griata, he's more like a torna.""What's a torna?"

"It's a rare flower grown on Ritadaria. If you try to pick the blossom, the leaves wrap around you and strangle you to death."

Horrified by his words, she stared at him.

He shrugged. "You asked." Stooping, he retrieved the blankets from the floor. "I hate blankets," he muttered, leaving her alone to dwell on his words.

Nykyrian woke first.

Quietly, he stepped over Rachol's sleeping body, his glasses forgotten. The pain in his side had ebbed to a dull ache, a sad reminder of the life lost last night by a moment of carelessness. He clenched his teeth thinking of the informant, blaming himself for the whole affair.

As he reached the bathroom door, Kiara's door opened. Before he could think to avert his eyes, she saw them.

Kiara's mouth dropped. The eyes staring at her were nothing like she had imagined.

They were clear and the lightest, prettiest shade of green with just a hint of a brown band around the edge of the iris.

His eyes were human and beautiful.

Her throat tightened in happiness. Those eyes gave her the first true glimpse of his soul.

In them, she saw all the mistrust, anger and bitterness. She felt as if she were seeing him naked. Kiara ached to take him into her arms and soothe away all the pain swirling in those magnificent eyes.

Biting her lip, she shifted her gaze to take in his entire face. There, she had no surprise.

He was every bit as handsome as she'd suspected.

He blinked and looked away, seemingly embarrassed. "I'm sorry about what I said last night," he whispered, meeting her gaze for a moment to show her his sincerity before he looked away again.

She cleared her throat of the sudden thrill that choked her from his apology. "Rachol toldme. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have hit you, it was wrong."

He shrugged and moved into the bathroom.

Kiara trembled in her newfound knowledge. Without his glasses, he wasn't a fearsome phantom to haunt her dreams. He was a mortal man who could be wounded and loved.

She gasped at her thoughts. Love? That's not what she wanted from him. Was it?

No longer feeling satisfied, she started breakfast.

Nykyrian's hands shook as he dragged them over his face. Well, at least he wouldn't have anymore eye strain. She had finally seen him.

Now it would begin. The initial pity would be first - poor deformed half-ling, then the worst part, the eventual hatred of his mixed blood, of the fact that he bore too many characteristics of both races.

People had never seen anything more in him than the antithesis of their own traits, not realizing or caring he could be hurt by their scorn.

Clenching his teeth, he ripped the bandage from his side, taking a small amount of satisfaction from the throbbing protest of his skin. Physical pain was easy to deal with and it took his mind off other things.

Disrobing, he stepped into the shower.

The water burned as it slid against his wound. Despite the pain, an image of Kiara tormented him. "No!" he hissed, hitting the wall with his palm.

She didn't deserve him. She needed someone free to love her entirely, not a man who had divided loyalties, wanted by authorities and criminals. He saw all the lonely nights she would spend while he pursued his missions, tormented by fears of his being killed.

Kiara would be better off with someone else. He couldn't allow himself to love her.

Ever.

* * *Kiara smiled at Nykyrian despite her warnings to herself to remain aloof. "I'm just going to have to get used to you all over again," she said, handing him a plate.

He didn't comment.

She filled a plate for herself and sat across from him. His wet, white hair was combed off his face. His eyes, with their long, dark lashes, absolutely fascinated her. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Like I've been shot," he replied dryly.

She smiled. "Gee, I wonder why?"

He glanced up at her, then quickly looked back at his food. "I'm surprised you're speaking to me after what I said to you last night."

She shrugged. "My father tutored me well on amnesia. He always claimed it was a necessary ingredient for friendship." She cleared her throat and said in deep voice, "Kiara, my angel, no matter how long you live or how good a friend you've got, someone's always going to say or do something they didn't mean to do. And if they're truly your friend, you'd better forgive and forget."

Nykyrian sipped his juice. "Your father's wise."

"Good day!" Rachol yawned, stretching as he entered the kitchen. "What smells so good?"

"Frisanian tarts," Kiara said, returning his smile.