"Explain. Now," Kiema said as she stood over me. She crossed her arms, glared down at me as I sat on the couch. I haven't felt this taken to task since I was in my teens. She was tiny compared to us, but damn, was she scary.
"Just like I said on the roof. I have to let you in through my magical booby traps, for lack of a better word."
"Why do you need healing?" Ransom asked as he sat on the end of the couch in Saint's home. I still wasn't sure why we always came back to this floor when Ransom had a floor of his own. Judging by the glare on my mate's face, I don't think I would be getting an answer to that question today.
"I don't. Not actual physical healing. My magic is " I trailed off, trying to find the best analogy for what was wrong with me. I selected and rapidly discarded a ton of options. None of them were completely right, while some weren't completely wrong.
Kiema growled.