LEVIATHAN #3
“That is the first useful suggestion anybody has made in the last five minutes.” I kiss Rowan again, slower because now I’m trying to feel what happens instead of simply panicking into his mouth.
The reaction spreads through the bond differently this time.
Rowan’s magic rolls into mine, Amand’s brushes against both of us from where he’s holding Rowan upright, and something in my Chameleon magic seems to grab at the petrification instead of simply reacting to it.
A crack runs across Rowan’s shoulder, then another down his arm, and his fingers jerk hard enough that he nearly catches me in the chin.
I pull back and catch his wrist before he can accidentally punch me. “Good. One arm. Apparently we’re putting you back together in whatever order the universe finds funniest.”
His newly freed fingers curl into the front of my jacket. One leg is still rigid, half his torso is gray, and his mouth is completely normal now, which feels unfair considering he immediately tries to use it.
“Could be worse,” Rowan says, testing the arm with a slow flex.
“You have one useful leg and approximately sixty percent of a functioning body.” I refuse to give him anything else and put my palm back over his chest instead. This time a full breath lifts beneath it, solid enough that some of the pressure behind my ribs finally loosens.
Medusa crouches beside the wrapped fragment and watches the twitching slow beneath the rag. “It’s fading now. Whatever connection he forced into this piece is weakening.”
I keep my hand exactly where it is. “So this would’ve worn off on its own?”
“Eventually, yes.” She studies Rowan before looking at me. “But not this fast. The fragment isn’t strong enough to sustain a full petrification indefinitely, but whatever happened between your magic and his accelerated the reversal.”
I look down at Rowan, who is still gripping the front of my jacket like he thinks I might wander off. “So my highly scientific method of panic-kissing worked.”
Medusa’s mouth twitches. “Apparently.”
Before I can decide whether I’m relieved or offended by that, Rowan’s knee makes an ugly grinding sound and finally bends.
He winces and shifts his foot, while stone breaks away unevenly down the rest of his leg.
Amand helps him settle fully onto the bench again as his balance returns, keeping one hand at Rowan’s back until he’s sure he can sit without becoming a very large floor decoration.
I stay between Rowan’s knees, one fist still twisted into his shirt while my other hand moves over the place along his ribs that had been stone less than a minute ago.
Warm skin. Moving chest. Steady breathing.
I know all three things are true, but apparently my nervous system would like independent confirmation.
Rowan covers my hand with his. “I’m breathing.”
“I noticed.”
“You’ve checked several times.”
“I’m thorough.” I flatten my palm over his chest again just because he pointed it out, waiting through another full inhale before finally looking at him. “You scared the shit out of me.”
That wipes the last bit of amusement from his expression. His fingers close around my wrist without pulling me closer or trying to turn the moment into anything else, simply holding on while Amand sits beside him and rests his forearm across Rowan’s shoulders.
I point toward the rag-covered fragment with my free hand. “New rule. Anything involving severed magical body parts goes through me first. You don't touch it, lick it, kick it, pocket it, or decide it looks lonely and needs companionship.”
Amand looks at me over Rowan’s shoulder. “You had that list ready very quickly.”
“I know who I live with.” I look directly at Rowan. “And apparently I need to plan for possibilities I never imagined would require planning.”
Rowan brings my hand up and presses his mouth against my knuckles, which is manipulative as hell considering I’m still trying to stay angry with him.
I let him do it anyway because his lips are warm, his chest is moving, and five minutes ago I was imagining the deeply humiliating possibility of losing one of my mates to a three-inch piece of snake.
Behind us, Medusa nudges the wrapped fragment with the end of a broken tool. “We need to take this with us. If he cut this much away while experimenting, there may be more pieces.”
I glance down at the tiny thing that nearly petrified Rowan and then back at him. “Fine, but someone with impulse control carries the murder snake.”
Amand reaches for an evidence container from our kit while Rowan starts to push himself upright. I plant one hand against his shoulder and send him straight back onto the bench before he gets more than an inch.
“You can sit there another minute,” I tell him, keeping my palm firmly in place when his eyebrows lift. “You’ve used up your decision-making privileges for the afternoon.”
Rowan looks at my hand, then at me, and apparently decides he has already tested his luck enough for one day because he settles back without arguing. I leave my hand where it is until Amand seals the fragment inside the container and Rowan takes another steady breath beneath my fingers.