Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Winter
It was worse than I'd feared. The magical shard had dissolved, but it had left behind a wound that glowed with an unnatural light, the edges blackened as if burned. The surrounding veins were dark, a sign of magical poisoning spreading through his system.
"That bad, huh?" Zane tried to joke, but his voice was weak.
"You'll be fine," I lied, tearing a strip from the bottom of my shirt to create a makeshift bandage. "Just a scratch."
He caught my wrist as I worked, his fingers surprisingly strong despite his condition. "Winter."
I looked up, meeting his mismatched eyes. There was something there beyond the pain, something that made my heart stutter in my chest.
"You're hurt," his thumb brushed over a cut on my cheek I hadn't even noticed.
"So are you," my voice catching. His hand moved from my wrist to my face, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that made my eyes sting with unshed tears.
For a moment, we just stayed like that, connected in the aftermath of violence, both of us wounded but alive. Then Zane leaned forward, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm on my lips.
"I thought I'd lose you back there," his voice raw. "When I saw those cultists surrounding you, I…"
"You didn't," I whispered, my hand coming up to cover his where it rested on my face. "I'm right here."
His eyes searched mine, looking for something I wasn't sure I could give. Then he closed the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened with the urgency of survival, of fear, of finally acknowledging what had been building between us for weeks.
I responded instantly, my free hand tangling in his hair, pulling him closer despite the awkward angle and his injured state. He tasted like blood and magic and a flavor I'd been craving without realizing it.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Zane's eyes were glowing slightly, a sign of his fae heritage responding to strong emotion. "We should have done that a long time ago," he pressed our foreheads together.
"Better late than never," I smiled, though it faded quickly as I noticed fresh blood seeping through his makeshift bandage. "We need to keep moving. The safe house can't be far now."
He nodded, allowing me to help him to his feet. We continued our slow progress through the woods, now moving with renewed determination. The kiss had changed something between us, acknowledgment of feelings we'd both been avoiding.
After another fifteen minutes of difficult travel, we finally spotted the safe house, a small, nondescript cabin partially hidden by trees. It looked abandoned, but I could feel the magical wards humming around it, invisible but powerful.
"Bureau recognition codes are keyed to my magical signature," Zane explained as we approached. "Just get me to the door."
I helped him the final few yards, his weight becoming heavier as his strength waned. By the time we reached the porch, he was barely conscious, his skin clammy and his breathing shallow.
"Zane, stay with me," I urged, propping him against the doorframe. "How do I activate the wards?"
"Blood," his eyes struggling to focus. "Mine. On the doorknob."
I guided his hand to the metal knob, watching as his blood smeared across it. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the door glowed briefly before swinging open, granting us access to the safety beyond.
I half-carried, half-dragged Zane inside, kicking the door shut behind us. The interior was simple but well-equipped: a small living area, a kitchenette, and what looked like a bedroom through a door to the right.
"Medical supplies?" I asked, lowering Zane onto the couch.
"Bathroom cabinet," he mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed. "And under the sink. Magical antidotes are labeled."
I rushed to gather what we needed, returning with an armful of supplies. Zane was now unconscious, his breathing rapid and shallow. The wound in his side had spread, the blackened veins now reaching toward his chest.
"Don't you dare die on me," I muttered as I cut away his shirt to better access the injury. "Not after that kiss. That would be such a cliché."
Working quickly, I cleaned the wound as best I could, then searched through the magical antidotes for something that might counteract the poisoning. I found a vial labeled "Shadow Toxin Neutralizer" that seemed promising and carefully applied it to the blackened area.
The effect was immediate. Zane's body arched off the couch, a cry of pain tearing from his throat as the antidote fought against the magical poison. I held him down as best I could, murmuring reassurances I wasn't sure he could hear.
Gradually, the blackened veins began to recede, the unnatural glow fading from the wound. Zane's breathing steadied, his body relaxing as the antidote did its work. I finished cleaning and bandaging the injury, then sat back on my heels, exhaustion washing over me in a wave.
We were safe, for now. The wards around the cabin would prevent the cultists from finding us, and the Bureau would eventually realize we were missing and send help. All we had to do was wait.
I moved to the chair opposite the couch, intending to keep watch while Zane recovered. But my body had other ideas. The adrenaline crash hit hard, and before I knew it, my eyes were drifting closed, the events of the day pulling me down into darkness.
I woke to the feeling of being watched. Opening my eyes, I found Zane awake and staring at me from the couch, his color much improved though his expression was guarded.
"How long was I out?" I asked, stretching to ease the stiffness in my neck.
"Couple of hours," his voice stronger than before. "The wards are holding. No sign of pursuit."
I nodded, relieved. "How's the wound?"
"Better, thanks to you." He gestured to the neat bandage on his side. "That was good work with the antidote."
"Just doing my job," I shrugged, though we both knew that wasn't entirely true.
A silence fell, the memory of our kiss hung between us, impossible to ignore but difficult to address.
"About what happened in the woods," Zane finally began, his mismatched eyes holding mine.
"We don't have to talk about it," I interrupted, suddenly afraid of what he might say. "Heat of the moment, adrenaline, near-death experience. I get it."
"Is that what you think it was?" His voice was soft but intent.
I looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I don't know what it was. I don't know what any of this is anymore." I gestured vaguely, encompassing the safe house, our injuries, the entire bizarre situation we found ourselves in.
Zane shifted on the couch, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his wound. "I know what it was for me."
I looked back at him, my heart hammering in my chest.
"It was something I've wanted to do since the first time you called me 'Sparkle Jerk,'" a small smile playing on his lips. "Something I've been fighting because it's complicated and messy and probably against about fifty Bureau regulations."
"Only fifty?" I managed a weak joke.
His smile widened briefly before turning serious again. "I care about you, Winter. More than I should. More than is safe for either of us."
"Because of the prophecy?" I asked, needing to know.
"In spite of it," he corrected. "The prophecy is part of you, but it's not all of you. I care about the woman who eats saltine crackers when she's stressed, who talks to her fish like he understands, who makes terrible jokes in the face of death."
Something warm unfurled in my chest, a feeling I'd been trying to ignore for weeks.
"It's not just me and you, though, is it?
There's Milo, and whatever is happening between you two.
And Rook and Fenric…" I trailed off, unsure how to articulate the complex web of feelings that had developed among our strange little group.
Zane nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I know. Like I said, complicated and messy." He reached out, his hand finding mine across the small space between us. "But maybe that's okay. Maybe we don't need to figure it all out right now."
I looked down at our joined hands, his fingers warm and strong against mine. "So what do we do?"
"Right now?" He tugged gently, pulling me toward him. "Right now, we take advantage of the fact that we're alive and alone and there's an actual bed in this safe house."
Heat bloomed in my cheeks, spreading down my neck and across my chest. "Your wound…"
"Is healing," he finished for me. "And there are plenty of things we can do that won't strain it."
The invitation in his eyes was unmistakable, sending a thrill through me that had nothing to do with prophecies or danger and everything to do with the man before me. Slowly, I rose from my chair and moved to sit beside him on the couch, our thighs touching.
"You're sure about this?" I asked, giving him one last chance to back away from the line we were about to cross.
In answer, Zane leaned forward and captured my lips with his, the kiss deeper and more deliberate than our desperate exchange in the woods. His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled me closer.
I melted into him, careful of his injury but hungry for his touch. The blue markings on my skin began to pulse, not with the frantic energy of battle but with a slow, steady rhythm that matched the beating of my heart.
"Bedroom," I gasped when we finally broke for air. "Now."
Zane's eyes darkened with desire as he stood, pulling me up with him. "Yes, ma'am."
We stumbled toward the bedroom, hands roaming, lips barely parting as we navigated the short distance. By the time we reached the bed, my shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and Zane's remaining clothes were in similar disarray.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling me between his legs. His hands slid under my shirt, warm against my skin as they traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine. I shivered at his touch, my body responding with an eagerness that surprised even me.