A/N: Okay, who got that last chapter? If you did, good for you. If you didn't, you'll understand soon—the best part's going to start in the next few chapters. Enjoy! Oh, and please review, I'm dying here!

AmaiPOV

My eyes opened slowly, sightlessly at first, then they faded back to life as the rest of my consciousness returned. A drowsy moan slipped through my parted lips as pain flared in the back of my head and my… left hand?

Something was tightly wound around said hand's wrist, so tight as to cut off the circulation. My eyes began to adjust to the orange glow in the room as I groped at what felt like bandages. A whispered curse echoed in the empty room as blood returned to my hand, making it tingle painfully.

Why did my ring finger feel so numb?

First lifting my pounding head, I sat up and looked down at my hand. In the low light I could make out the outline of my fingers that were white with the bandages I'd begun to remove, but I couldn't really see them all that well. I moved them one by one so I could.

Thumb…index… middle……pinky.

What the hell? Where was my ring finger? I strained my eyes to see it—I could feel where it connected with my hand, I swear, but my eyes just didn't agree with my nerves. I brought my hand closer to my face in an attempt to prove my sanity, and I saw a little stump beginning to stain red.

No. No, he didn't! If I'd ever really wanted to kill anybody—which I hadn't, before now—it was Altair. Why in the world had he cut off my finger?! When I saw him, I'd—well, I didn't really know what I'd do, I just knew it'd be bad.

My head snapped up as the door opened. In came Altair, hood down and carrying a torch. "Speak of the devil," I mumbled angrily.

"You're awake," he stated, his voice monotone and listless. He put the torch in a holder on the wall by the door.

My temper flared. "Yes, and imagine my surprise when I wake up to THIS!" I thrust my open palm in his direction.

His brows furrowed and he came over to me with a few long strides, then grabbed at my hand to peer at it more closely. "You let the blood back in." It was another statement of fact, flat and unfeeling.

"Of course I did! Altair, my finger is gone."

He squeezed my wrist so hard that it hurt. "No one told you to undo your bandages, Amai! Now I have to close it again!"

"You aren't closing anything," I yanked my hand from his and glared at him.

His eyes came up to mine, narrowed and so cold that it almost numbed my body. "Do you want me to let it bleed?"

"N-No…" I stammered, my eyes widening ever-so-slightly.

"So shut up and stop acting like a child," he growled and looked down as he continued to unwind the bandage. With the torch on the wall I could better see my hand and the dark red stump that had once been my finger. At my frustrated sigh he continued, "Personally, I think this is dumb. There must be some way to have a hidden blade without removing a finger."

"I agree."

"But do you want it or not?!" His voice was harsh again, but then he smiled. "And don't say no, because there's no going back now." Besides, I'd hate for you to gain a rank and have nothing to show for it."

With that he unwound the last strip of cloth from my hand, stood, and went back to the door for the torch. My heart froze. "What are you doing with that?!"

He grinned. "I told you I'd have to close it again."

My eyes widened as I realized what was going on. "Altair, NO. You are not burning my finger shut."

"Yes I am," his voice was teasingly smooth. He came back to the bed and sat down in front of me, then threw the torch to the dirt floor. The fire roared brightly, then sputtered as it died. Time had passed and the sun was long gone, so we were left with nothing but darkness and the faint light of the dying embers.

"I can't see," my voice sounded small in the darkness.

"I can." His voice, however, echoed around the room and two blue circles appeared above where the sound had originated—his eyes?

The bed creaked as he bent over the embers, giving him his own orange sort of glow. I watched him admirably, my eyes migrating to the highlighted places on his face—the long scar that crossed his lips; the fine dusting of stubble trailing up his strong, square jaw; the severe storm circling in his warm silver eyes… long story short—God, he was handsome. And one could learn to love that attitude of his…

My little trance was broken when he reached down and picked up one of the embers and flicked it back into his gloved palm. He sat up and looked down at the fading orange rock, eyes blue once again, and grabbed at my left hand.

Preoccupied with… other things, I hadn't noticed how much my finger was hurting, but now I recognized the presence of a dull pain and the thick scent of blood.

"This is going to burn," Altair murmured, blue eyes looking down.

I had a smart remark on my tongue but bit it back as searing pain flared up my finger, hand and into my elbow. I jerked my arm back instinctively but his grip on my wrist was so tight that my hand didn't move. A small cry came out of my mouth and I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling moisture run down my face in the process.

"Assassins don't cry," he scolded softly, letting go of my wrist to trace his thumb down the path the tear had taken. "It'll be over soon."

His voice held an apology, though I knew it'd never really come out of his mouth. I looked at him and his eyes came up to mine, the storm stilled and now calm, peaceful. Not only was it that, but his eyes held some emotion that I didn't know—something warm, something soft, something I knew he'd never show to anyone else. It made me wonder…

What was I to him? And what could he be to me?