“My name is Tegan.”

At the sound of his voice she stopped. His eyes were open again, and even though his face was shadowed by pain he tried to smile at her once more.

“What is your name, goddess?”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

“I meant no disrespect. I only-”

“You killed Maev!” she interrupted.

“I have killed no one,” he insisted. Making an involuntary beseeching gesture, his arm lifted and Aine saw the short sword sheathed at his waist.

“I don’t believe you. How could I? You’re a Fomorian. A demon. My enemy.” Aine’s stomach knotted as she looked frantically around. “Where are the rest of your people?”

“It’s only me. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have sneaked through, but I wanted to see it.”

“It?”

“Partholon,” Tegan spoke the word like a prayer.

“But there are more of you?”

“Of course. In the Wastelands.”

Aine started backing away again. “I have to warn the Guardian Warriors. Your people have to be stopped.”

“But it’s only me who is here,” he said.

“No…you killed Maev.” Then the Huntress’s words lifted from her memory. The warriors know! They all know. What was happening? How could the Guardian Warriors know about the Fomorians? Then all of Partholon should know. Maev was dying. She’d been almost incoherent. Or things had been happening so quickly maybe Aine had misunderstood. Shaking her head she spoke more to herself than the fallen demon, “It doesn’t matter. I have to tell them.”

“Please don’t leave me.” Even though she was well beyond his touch, he reached out for her and then moaned, crumpling to the ground again.

It is your choice, daughter, whether you aid him or not. As if battling against Maev’s warning, Epona’s voice filled her mind. The Goddess had led her to this creature. Surely she had brought her to him so that Aine would return to the castle and tell the men. But then why had Epona said that there was one near who needed her? When she’d followed the moans Aine had had no doubt that she was supposed to help whoever had been injured.

All right. Couldn’t she do both? She could dress his wounds and then go to the castle and warn them that Fomorians were near. Aine glanced down at Tegan’s trapped leg. He might be injured so badly that he’d still be here when she brought the warriors back. Was there rope in the cart? Perhaps she could tie him up.

She drew a deep breath and looked from his wound to his eyes. “How do I know you won’t try to kill me if I help you?”

“I’m not a killer,” was his instant response.

“You’re a demon,” she said.

He frowned. “Is it because I have wings that you keep calling me that?”

“It’s because your people betrayed the good faith of my people and tried to slaughter them that I call you that.”

“How long ago?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“How long ago was the war between our people?”

Aine moved her shoulders restlessly. “It’s talked about in our legends. The bards sing songs about how demonic and hideous your people are.” She closed her mouth, then all too aware that even though the winged man trapped so painfully on the ground in front of her might be a demon, he definitely wasn’t hideous.

“Three hundred and twenty-five full passes of all four seasons have gone by since my people fought yours,” he said. Tegan paused to grimace in pain. After several short, panting breaths he continued. “So it is for something that happened between people long dead that you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Aine said automatically.

“Then help me. Please, goddess,” he said.

“Stop calling me a goddess,” Aine said, beginning to walk slowly towards him.

“I don’t know what else to call you,” Tegan said.

“Aine. I’m a Healer,” she said briskly, kneeling beside his bloody leg.

His sudden laugh surprised her. What especially surprised her was that the infectious sound of it caught her attention more than a second glimpse of his fangs.

“A Healer! And I believed all luck had deserted me.”

She frowned at him, thinking that luck was certainly a relative thing, and then fell into her normal pattern of distracting her patient through conversation. “How did this happen?”

“I was foolish.” He paused sucking in his breath as she began her examination. Through gritted teeth he continued. “I know better than to step into a gully filled with leaves. My attention was elsewhere and I made a mistake.”

“Your attention was on what?” Aine was intrigued by Tegan’s physiology. His leg appeared human, but it ended in a taloned foot that reminded her of the old stories she’d read about Partholon’s long extinct dragons.

“My attention was on this.” Tegan gestured weakly at the pine forest surrounding them. “It’s so green and alive. Everything here is so much more beautiful than the Wastelands.” His eyes met hers. “Everything…”

Clearing her throat, she broke eye contact with him and continued her assessment. The trap had closed just above his left ankle. There was a lot of blood on it and in the leaves, but the bleeding appeared to have stopped. The odd-looking foot was already swelling, though, and his skin…she glanced up his body. His skin was paler than a human man’s, but it seemed to glow faintly, as if it had been lit from within by a moon-colored light. His body was very man-like. He was tall and muscular and well-formed. His hair was so silver blonde that it reminded her of the moon, too. His eyes were slightly slanted and an unusual light amber color. He was, she realized, exotic and odd-looking, but not an unattractive man. Aine shook herself mentally. Men didn’t have down-lined wings that tucked against their bodies.

“I need to open this trap, but I’m worried about the bleeding that might happen once your leg is free.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“I need something to…” she paused, considering. “The leather tie that holds your hair. I need it.”

Tegan started to reach back, but the movement made him stiffen with pain.

“I’ll get it.” Businesslike, Aine moved to his head. Forcing herself not to hesitate, she untied the thong. His silver hair was long and felt like silk against her fingers. She could see that his ears were surprisingly small for such a large being, and slightly pointed, as if the fairy people had touched him there.

By the Goddess! Fairy people? This creature is a demon, not a harmless sprite.

She moved back to his leg, glancing up but not meeting his eyes. “I’m going to tie a tourniquet above the wound, but hopefully you haven’t severed a major blood vessel.”

“It can’t hurt much more than it does now.” Tegan tried to smile again, but only succeeded in a small grimace.

“You’re wrong about that,” Aine said grimly, tying the tourniquet in place. Then she did meet his gaze. “Ready?”

He dug his fingers into the ground and Aine thought she caught the flash of more talons. Then he nodded. “Ready.”

Aine positioned her hands on the trap, drew a deep breath, and forced apart its fang-like jaws. Tegan screamed, but she hardly heard him. As if a dam had broken, his leg was spurting the scarlet of a severed artery.

She grabbed a small piece of wood, twisting it into the tourniquet to attempt to slow the flow, but it made little difference.

“It must be cauterized. That’s the only way,” Aine murmured to herself, wishing frantically that she was in her well-stocked surgery with a variety of metal irons already heated and awaiting her use. Her gaze lifted unerringly to the short sword sheathed at his waist. Aine ignored his wing, which fluttered weakly as she leaned over him and pulled the sword free. “I’ll be right back.”

Tegan nodded, although he didn’t speak or open his eyes.