Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
Azelon knelt beside Jamie's bed, the human's soft, uneven breaths the only sound breaking the silence of the healing chamber.
The memory of Corin's body pressed against his haunted him, threatening the control he'd maintained all this time. One moment of weakness—that's all it had taken to shatter his resolve.
It was all impossible.
Selfish.
And yet...
"No more distractions," Azelon muttered to himself, focusing on Jamie's face. The human's features were drawn with pain even in unconsciousness. A cut above his right eyebrow had scabbed over, but bruises still darkened his skin in mottled patches.
All because he'd tried to save Corin.
All because Azelon had failed to protect them both.
The store creaked around him, as if sensing his guilt. A small table beside the bed shifted slightly, edging closer to Azelon's reach. On it sat a ceramic bowl filled with a paste of crushed leaves—something Azelon hadn't requested but the building had provided anyway.
"Is this what he needs?" Azelon asked the empty room.
The light pulsed once in affirmation.
Cautiously, Azelon lifted the bowl and studied its contents. The paste gave off a sharp, clean scent. He dipped a finger in and tasted a minute amount.
Cooling properties. Something for fever. And something else he couldn't identify.
Jamie's breath hitched suddenly, a small sound of pain escaping his lips. Azelon set down the bowl and leaned closer.
"Jamie?"
The human's eyelids fluttered but didn't open. His breathing quickened, growing shallow and labored.
"Can you hear me?" Azelon pressed a hand to Jamie's chest, monitoring the rapid beat of his heart.
Too fast.
Much too fast.
Azelon reached for the medicinal paste, scooping some onto his fingertips. He hesitated only briefly before brushing it across Jamie's forehead, murmuring words in the Tideborn tongue—a healer's blessing, though Azelon was no healer.
"Find your strength," he said softly in the common language. "The store needs you. Corin needs you."
He paused, something tightening in his chest, as if there were more words he should be saying, but they would not come.
And Jamie's condition didn't improve.
If anything, his breathing grew more labored, his skin hotter. The paste wasn't working quickly enough.
Azelon didn't know what to do.
If the human died…
Corin would never forgive himself… or Azelon.
But the only option he had…
Tideborn healing magic.
It required intimacy—a sharing of life force that was only permitted between bonded pairs or those with blood ties.
To use such magic on a human would be considered sacrilege among his people.
Another reason to ensure he could never return home.
Jamie's breathing hitched again, this time accompanied by a pained moan that seemed to rise from deep within his chest. His fingers twitched against the blanket, as if reaching for something—or someone.
"The store can't lose you," Azelon said. "And neither can Corin."
Not permiting himself to think, Azelon moved the basin of water aside.
Gently, he pulled back the blanket covering Jamie, exposing the bandaged torso.
Trying his best not to aggravate the wound, he unwound the bandages just enough to reveal the worst of the damage Jamie's body had taken.
An angry red gash across his ribs that showed early signs of infection despite Azelon's careful tending.
Azelon hesitated.
Tideborn healing required skin-to-skin contact.
He opened the front of his own tunic, revealing the bioluminescent markings that curled across his chest like living tattoos. In normal circumstances, they pulsed a steady blue, but now they brightened with anticipation, as if the magic within recognized what he was about to attempt.
"You must survive this," Azelon told Jamie softly. "You must return to your world. Find your brother. Return to your life."
The alternative—Jamie staying here, becoming more entangled with Corin and perhaps even with Azelon himself—was too dangerous to contemplate.
Jamie's eyes opened, glazed with fever but somehow finding Azelon's face.
"Blue," he murmured, the word slurred. "Beautiful blue."
Azelon's markings pulsed brighter in response, as if preening under the praise. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
"This will feel strange," he warned, though he wasn't certain Jamie could understand him through the fever. "But it will help."
Carefully, Azelon lowered himself until his chest pressed against Jamie's, positioning the most active of his markings directly over the infected wound.
The contact sent a shock through his system —heat from Jamie's fever-wracked body, the soft feel of human skin, the intimacy of the position itself.
He began the incantation, words in the ancient Tideborn tongue.
With each syllable, his markings grew brighter, energy flowing from them and into Jamie's wound. The magic sought out infection, neutralized it, encouraged healing—but it did more than that. It created a connection, a tether between them.
Jamie's pain almost overwhelmed Azelon. A sharp, burning sensation across his ribs, a bone-deep ache in his head. He felt the confusion, the disorientation of fever.
And beneath it all lingered Jamie's essence—his steady determination, his quiet strength, his deep capacity for care. It washed over Azelon in waves, foreign yet somehow familiar.
Was this how Corin experienced him? This solid presence, this unwavering center?
Jamie gasped beneath him, back arching slightly as the healing magic took hold. His eyes flew open again, clearer this time, fixing on Azelon's face with startling intensity.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
Azelon didn't break the incantation, but he held Jamie's gaze, trying to convey reassurance. The human's hand moved, weakly grasping Azelon's forearm.
To Azelon's surprise, Jamie didn't push him away. Instead, his fingers traced one of the glowing markings.
"Your marks," Jamie murmured. "They're... singing."
Azelon faltered in his incantation, stunned. No non-Tideborn should be able to sense that aspect of their magic. The marks did indeed create a frequency—too low for humans to hear.
Yet somehow, Jamie did.
And the connection between them strengthened, magic flowing more freely. Slowly, Jamie's fever began to recede, the infection in the wound diminishing. Relief flooded Azelon, strong enough that his control slipped momentarily.
In that unguarded instant, the connection flowed both ways.
Jamie's eyes widened as he caught glimpses of Azelon's thoughts, his memories, his conflicts. The exile. The rescue that had earned it. The months with Corin. The desperate hope of someday returning home, fading with each passing day.
"You saved someone," Jamie whispered, echoing Corin's words from days earlier. "From your own people."
Azelon closed his eyes, completing the final words of the incantation. The magic pulsed once more, bright enough to illuminate the entire room, then gradually faded back to its normal glow.
He started to pull away, but Jamie's hand tightened on his arm.
"Don't," Jamie said, his voice stronger than before. "Not yet."
"The healing is complete," Azelon replied, his own voice rough with exertion.
"But you haven't told me why." Jamie's eyes searched his. "Why you saved that person. Why you accepted exile."
Azelon tensed. The magic had created more of a connection than he'd intended. Shown Jamie more than he should have seen.
"It doesn't matter." He carefully extricated himself from Jamie's weakened grip and moved back, closing his tunic.
"It matters to Corin," Jamie countered.
Azelon turned away, busying himself with arranging fresh bandages. "You need rest. The fever has broken, but your body is still healing."
"Azelon."
The sound of his name in Jamie's mouth sent an unexpected shiver down Azelon's spine. The human somehow imbued it with meaning—with understanding. With a request for trust that Azelon wasn't prepared to give.
"Sleep," Azelon said firmly. "We can talk when you're stronger."
Jamie watched him for a long moment, then exhaustion did claim him. His eyes drifted closed, but his breathing was easier now, his color improving with each passing minute.
The healing had worked.
Azelon slumped into the chair beside the bed. Tideborn healing took a toll on the healer as well as the patient. He would need to rest soon, to replenish his energy.
But not yet. Not until he was certain Jamie was stable.
The store creaked around him, a subtle shifting of walls and floorboards that felt almost like gratitude.
"You're welcome," Azelon murmured to the building.