27. Morgan
Blaze flinches back,as if I’m a snake that just bit him.
Which is kind of ironic, given that a snake monster just bit me.
“I can’t,” he says, and he refuses to look at the wound, as if doing so will kill me on the spot.
“Do you know any healing spells?” I ask, ignoring his refusal. We don’t have time for it. The pain is too unbearable. A constant throb turning into a howling scream in my veins.
It’s going to burn me alive.
“One.” He swallows, and I can see from his twisted expression that he’s torn up inside, conflict raging within him. “From when I tried to heal my mom. But you know what happened to her. It’s too risky. If I use it on you, it might?—”
I reach out, grabbing his hand with my good one and stopping him mid-sentence. “I’m dying either way,” I tell him, hoping the glare I’m giving him sears through him as strongly as the poison ripping through my veins.
His jaw clenches as he looks from me, to my blackened skin, and back to me again. “You don’t know that,” he says, although I can tell from his wavering voice that the reality of what’s happening is sinking in.
“You can do this,” I tell him, praying to every god in existence that he’ll see reason.
He just shakes his head, his eyes hollow, as if he’s reliving what happened with his mom all over again.
“You have to try,” I beg, the tears coming faster now. “Please, Blaze. I need you.”
He finally meets my gaze with something I didn’t expect—anger.
“Fine.” Resolution crosses his face, and he reaches for his penknife, flicking it open. Then, taking a deep breath, he slashes the thin blade across his palm, digging deep and covering the tip of it with his blood. “This might hurt.”
With a shaky breath, he positions the penknife—his blood covering its tip like ink—above my arm.
I brace myself, not for the pain, but for the uncertain outcome of Blaze’s spell. I’m not sure ending up in that institution with his mom would be better or worse than death, but we still have to try.
“Sanare,”he whispers—I assume it’s the Latin word for “heal”—and then the tip of the penknife is in my flesh, red hot pain flooding my arm as he sears the magic into my skin.
In a flash, my body’s on fire, the pressure making me fear I might explode with so much force that the remaining microscopic shards of myself will scatter across space and time and be lost forever. The only thing keeping me from screaming is the knowledge that if I do, he might think he’s failing and stop.
I have to stay strong. I have to make sure he finishes. This spell is my only hope.
Then, suddenly, there’s warmth.
It’s different from the fire we wield or the raging inferno of the poison. It’s a gentle, soothing heat that seeps deep into my flesh, targeting the venom and cooling its burn.
With a relieved breath, I open my eyes and dare a glance at my arm.
The word on my skin glows with yellow light, pulsing like the beat of a heart.
In seconds, the pain recedes. Slowly at first, then faster, as if being drawn out by an invisible force.
The dark veins that were spreading from the wound fade, the deadly black giving way to pink, healthy flesh.
All that remains is a single, blood-red word inked onto my forearm. Sanare.
I know instinctively that it will stay there forever, and pride surges through me that this mark of triumph will always be mine to bear.
“It worked,” I say, staring at my healed arm in amazement.
Blaze doesn’t speak.
He just drops the penknife to the ground, pulls me toward him, and crushes his lips to mine with so much pressure that I can barely breathe.
Butterflies go wild in my stomach, and my heart leaps. For a moment, I’m lost in his kiss—in the warmth that contrasts so starkly with the cool night air of the Alpine wilderness.
I wanted this from the moment I saw him.
But I can’t. It’s too complicated. It’s a tangle of secrets and lies—mainly, the secrets I’m keeping from him because of the truth I can’t bring myself to share.
So, I pull away, breaking the kiss with a gasp, as if surfacing from deep underwater.
“Morgan,” he says, as if I’m the most precious thing to him in the world. His forehead is pressed against mine, and I realize he thinks I broke the kiss momentarily—not that I was stopping it entirely.
“Blaze.” I move away from him, and hurt spreads across his face when he realizes what’s going on.
He masks it quickly, but I know it was there. “Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have?—“
“No, it’s not that,” I rush to explain. “It’s just?—“
It’s just what? That I’m afraid of what I feel? That I don’t fully trust him, even though he saved my life twice today?
“We’ve been through a lot today,” I say. “And it’s dark out. We need to find a place to set up for the night.”
He nods, looking away, and I can tell he’s pulling back, building walls where seconds ago there were none. “You’re right,” he says, and there’s a resignation in his voice that twists something deep inside me. “How are you feeling? Can you walk?”
“All good.” I stand up and smile at him to prove my point. “It worked. You were amazing.”
Understatement of the century.
“I couldn’t let you die.” A shadow crosses over his eyes, and he marches over to our packs, which are still on the ground where we threw them at the start of the fight with the Tatzelwurm.
He picks his up, and I hurry after him to grab mine.
“You still have the compass?” he asks, and just like that, it’s as if the kiss never happened.
It’s like none of it ever happened. Like I didn’t almost die and like he didn’t save my life with magic he swore he wouldn’t use on anyone ever again.
“Yes.” I reach into my jacket pocket, relieved to find that the compass survived the fight with the wurm.
From there, it doesn’t take long to orient myself to face southeast, and I lead the way, trying to ignore the awkward tension lingering in the air between us as we walk—and the weight of the secret that’s now weighing on me heavier than ever.