Chapter 9 Bolted Together #2
The world stilled as I wrapped my mind around the implication, and I had to actively stop myself from pulling away from him. “They…” I stammered over my words. “They were from your court.” I stared at him with eyes wide, praying he’d contradict me.
His throat bobbed. And I knew before he said it. “They were from the Autumn Court, yes.”
I was powerless over the involuntary jerk my body made to get distance from him, both of us biting back a curse. Ignoring the fresh bolt of pain, I pushed forward, needing answers. “Under your command, right?”
“Nyleeria, I di—”
“Yes or no, Commander.”
He gave me a hard stare, then said, “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just call them off?” My voice was full of accusation and betrayal, despite my efforts to stay calm.
“Nyleeria.” His voice was firm, but something other than commanding had me frozen in his gaze like a moth to a flame.
“The Axelian Army is on standing orders to retrieve you. Whether I’m there or not, that order stands.
My order stands. There are specialized mercenaries along the borders of all courts in case we’re able to get through, so when the wards went down…
” he let the thought trail off. “I just killed good males who were following my orders, who I’ve known for centuries, to protect you, your location, and my anonymity.
When I go back to the Autumn Court, I will have to personally visit each of their families and look them in the eyes as I give them my condolences for their deaths, knowing they were by my hand.
So, had there been another option—any other option—the Stars know I would have chosen it. ”
Like always with him, his declaration had me swimming in a vat of confused emotions, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find solid ground. “Why?” I finally whispered, trying for the hundredth time to reconcile him and his motives.
“I’ve already told you why,” he said, standing firm to the proclamation he’d made in the Autumn Court that he wouldn’t let history repeat itself—and I still wondered if that was enough to justify the extremes he seemed to go through.
Why did he care so much more than his kin about what had happened in the past?
“I know you don’t believe me,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if he was right or not, “but right now that doesn’t matter—we have to take care of this first.” He gestured to the poisonous rod connecting us.
He was right. I wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline, mistrust, being fae, or even the poison that had dulled the pain enough to recklessly argue instead of getting the damn thing out. Either way, I nodded in agreement.
“We’ll need to sit up in unison so we don’t bend the shaft,” he started.
“It’s likely that a small amount of poison has leached into our bodies, but not enough to produce symptoms. If that’s the case, then when we right ourselves, we’ll feel faint.
Possibly nauseous. Do not pass out, and do not sway,” he warned.
“Anything else?” I asked in earnest, suddenly feeling nervous.
“We just have to make sure we keep the arrow at the same angle it went in at.”
I nodded.
“On the count of three?”
Steeling myself, I pushed away the fresh memory of the mercenary’s countdown for me to drink the dark liquid before nodding again.
“One.”
I swallowed and locked my gaze on his, my palms now balmy.
“Two.”
He gave me a reassuring half-smile, and I clenched my jaw, afraid I’d somehow kill us both.
“Three.”
In a smooth motion we tilted up from our sides—the pain making both of us hiss through gritted teeth. As we righted ourselves, Endymion released a cry of pain, and I forced back the violent nausea, trying to focus on him.
His lids fluttered as he fought to keep his head from lulling back in unconsciousness. Something was wrong.
“What is it?” I said, my words fast and searching.
He tried to speak but couldn’t, his eyes pleading with me to understand what he couldn’t voice—and damn if they didn’t look the exact same every time he asked me to trust him.
It only took me a few seconds to realize what he had; we hadn’t accounted for being on Luca when struck, or for our height difference.
I assessed how to right it, then paused, slowly closing my eyes when I realized what needed to be done.
Endymion’s breaths become labored, and I knew I’d be next if I didn’t do this. Chest tight, I dug my fingernails into the flesh of my palms, praying to whatever gods were listening for my body to obey me—not my trauma.
I can do this. I must do this.
Forcing cool confidence that I didn’t own into my voice, I opened my eyes and said, “I’ll need to adjust so that we can slide you off, okay?”
His head wobbled in assent.
My fingers dug in deeper, and the sharp sting was the only thing that allowed me to move forward.
With great care, I shifted to my knees, careful to keep the arrow as steady as possible.
Acid stung at the back of my throat, my body anticipating what had to come next.
As if on reflex, my gaze shifted past his shoulder until our surroundings were nothing but a blur.
Breath abandoned me as I finally slid my right leg over Endymion’s lap, effectively straddling him.
The instant his warm, muscle-clad body pressed against mine, my entire being screamed for me to move; my instincts clawing at me to flee, even if it meant death.
I sat there, breathless, heartbeat pounding in my ears as the feeling of a thousand insects crawling under my flesh scraped at my sanity…
and all I had to do was step away to make it stop.
I hated this. Hated that there was no other choice.
Hated every fiber of myself for being so weak—for allowing Thaddeus to haunt me in such a way.
Hated that we were in this situation, tethered.
Most of all, I hated Endymion for the way he silently pleaded for me to trust him—because unlike everything else, I knew deep inside that if I wasn’t careful, he held the power to finally break me.
“Get it together,” I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to focus past my terror. “He is not here. No one is pulling your magic. You are in control. You are getting this damn arrow out.”
Trembling, I finally dropped my full weight onto his lap, righting the arrow so that it no longer bowed.
Still looking past his shoulder into the abyss, I felt the tension in his muscles unwind enough that it had my head tilting up to see if he was okay, only to find him staring down at me, eyes clear once more.
“Nyleeria,” he whispered, and I almost lost my grip on my quivering body from his concern, silent tears now streaking down my cheeks.
“Now what?” I rasped, trying to ignore the deep sadness reflected back at me.
Endymion unfastened the leathers protecting his torso and, in one fluid motion, ripped away a long strip of fabric from the fitted white shirt hidden beneath, then wrapped it around the arrow’s shaft.
“I need you to hold here,” he said, indicating where he’d just covered the silvery barbs poised to bite into our flesh.
Releasing the death grip of my clenched fists, I crossed my uninjured arm and did as he asked.
He paused for a moment as the fabric drank in the crimson slowly seeping from the four crescent marks my nails had left behind.
A dark fierceness that might have bordered on anger shifted across his face, and it seemed a great effort for him to bring his eyes back to mine—as if he couldn’t look away from the damage.
His tone was calm, but something else lingered in his voice as he continued to explain what needed to be done.
“I’m going to slide myself backward. Your job is to grip the shaft as hard as you can to keep me and yourself still.
Make certain you hold your balance as I free myself. We can’t have you falling back.”
I couldn’t help the image of me toppling back, the tiny barbs shredding through my flesh as the point of the arrow hit the ground, forcing the bolt back in. But as he stared at me with cold, hard resolve, I nodded.
“Right then,” he said and shifted slightly. “Ready?”
Heart in my throat, I nodded again.
Jaw set, he pulled himself back slowly enough that I could adjust my grip as needed, ensuring the arrow followed its natural path through his body while keeping me safe from the movement, lest we accidentally pull it backward through me and trigger the poison.
One silent, agonizing inch after another, he slid away from me with a precision that had me questioning how many times he’d done this before.
Mercifully—if one could call it that—a good portion of the bolt had already traveled through him, meaning there wasn’t much to pull through.
His muscles shifting under my thighs from the effort did nothing to quell the tremble threatening to annihilate my rational understanding that immediate distance from him did not equate safety—no matter how hard my trauma tried to convince me otherwise.
Morbid as it was, the only sense that quelled my revulsion to his proximity was the grudging squelch of flesh giving way, like mud releasing a boot it was loath to yield.
That is, until the instant he was free and my trauma finally won out.
I jumped up and away from the autumn fae so fast that my vision blackened, and if a stark-still Luca hadn’t been there, I would’ve toppled over in a heartbeat.
Side-leaning against the massive stallion, I clenched my eyes closed against the deep, shallow breaths of raw terror threatening to topple me over.
A distant part of me knew I should’ve been helping Endymion staunch the bleeding, but in that moment, Father Death could’ve come to claim him, and I wouldn’t have been able to so much as open my eyes, let alone help.
Lady Time’s power was lost on me as I meandered back to myself.
Slowing breaths.
Head resting against Luca.
Warmth radiating off him.
Fingers idly stroking his side.
Leaden lids finally opening.
The verdant forest coming back into view.
A first, deep breath.
“Nyleeria,” Endymion said my name with a whispered gentility that seemed to unlock the last shackles holding me hostage.
I blinked up at him, eyes burning. His features softened in knowing.
“I know this is the last thing you want right now, but we need to take care of that arrow. Do you think you can let me take it out for you?”
“Okay,” I rasped, exhaustion cloyingly heavy as I shifted so that I was facing Luca’s flank. Tilting forward on my feet, I pressed my hands against him. Chest tightening again, I braced myself.
Endymion stepped behind me. I wasn’t sure how far the arrow shaft protruded from my back, but as I heard him tear another strip of fabric to protect his hands the same as he’d done for me, I knew it was enough for him to get a decent grip.
He took a moment to get into position.
A breath passed. Then another. Then another.
Before I could ask what was wrong, he said, “I have to put a hand on you to make sure you don’t move when I pull it out.”
“Just make it quick,” I said, unable to muster any gratitude for his consideration.
His massive warrior hand pressed firm against my back, and for once, my body was too wrung out to resist his closeness. Now steadied, I braced myself, but if I was being honest, I wasn’t entirely sure if it was against the pain I was about to feel or how fragile I felt under his supporting touch.
A heartbeat later, he pulled.