Chapter 65
Chapter Sixty-Five
HOOK
Pain.
That's all I bloody know right now.
It tears through my leg, ripping into muscle, burning deep. Every nerve screams. The agony sinks in, determined to consume me whole. My breath catches, vision blurs, and I grit my teeth, sucking in air that does sod all to help. Nothing will.
I manage to scramble back to the rocks, leaning against them, leg bent at an awkward angle, fingers digging into dirt.
The urge to shout builds in my chest, but I force it down.
The Bandersnatch might be gone, but who knows what other nasty surprises are lurking?
I don't have another fight in me. Not now.
I lean back, closing my eyes for a second.
Shit.
I'm not giving this bastard the satisfaction.
Alice appears beside me, suddenly too close, her hands reaching for my leg. The warmth of her fingers near my skin makes my pulse jump, but I shove her away.
"It's fine. Just a flesh wound."
She bats my hand aside with surprising strength. "What the hell was that?" Her eyes flash with something that looks dangerously close to concern. "Were you trying to get yourself killed?"
I blink at her, trying to focus past the fog of pain and the distracting way she's hovering over me. "Sometimes, a thanks is all you need to say," I mutter. "You know, I—"
Alice presses her hands against my leg without warning.
"Bloody fucking hell," I bite out, my vision going white for a second. Her touch sends electricity through my skin that has nothing to do with pain.
"It's gone deep into the muscle," she says, clinical and focused. But her fingers tremble slightly against my thigh.
"I told you, it's fine."
I push her hand away again and try to get up, to prove it. I've walked away from worse, fought bigger monsters than that thing. I grip the sword, using it to brace myself, trying to ignore how close she is, how her breath catches when I move.
My leg betrays me instantly.
The second I put pressure on it, pain explodes through me. My knee buckles, and a sharp cry escapes before I can trap it behind my teeth. I hit the ground hard, nearly smashing my head against the rocks.
Alice stares down at me, her expression unreadable but her eyes bright with something that makes my chest tight.
I grit my teeth, trying to shove down both the humiliation and the way her proximity makes my skin buzz.
"I just need a second," I say through clenched teeth. "That's all. Just a bloody second."
"You need a doctor."
I shake my head. "I don't think the Queen is handing out healers to those who commit treason. Though..." I trail off, distracted by how she shifts closer. "Is it really treason if we're not her people? And you..."
Alice is staring. "You're rambling." She takes the sword from me, not roughly, but firm enough that I let her. It isn't really taking if I let her, is it? Though watching her handle my weapon does something uncomfortable to my insides.
She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't falter. Like she's done this a hundred times before. She grips the blade and slices a strip from her dress, pulling it free without ceremony. Then, she sets the sword down just out of my reach.
Deliberate. Clever girl.
I don't know whether to be amused or fucking irritated. Both, probably.
"I don't suppose you've got a drink on you? A flask of—"
I raise a brow, reaching into my jacket, pulling out a small flask. Too small for what we both need right now.
Alice snatches it before I can get a proper grip.
"Now is really the time to be drinking?" I ask.
She uncaps it, takes a sniff, and—without warning—pours the damn thing over my leg.
"Bloody fucking—" Pain sears through me, sharp and immediate. A string of curses spills out that would make even my crew blush. "What the hell—that was my last—"
"Did you want vodka or an infected leg?" she says flatly, but there's a hint of something softer in her eyes.
"You didn't even give me the choice."
Alice doesn't bother answering. She just starts working on my leg, her movements swift, precise. Like this is just necessary. Like I'm just another task to check off. Like her touch isn't setting every nerve ending on fire.
Not because she cares.
Not that it should fucking bother me. But for some reason, it does. More than it should.
She presses the torn fabric against my leg, and—bloody hell—the pain tears through me.
My body tenses, muscles locking up. But she doesn't let me move.
She's strong. Stronger than she looks. Her grip tightens on my thigh, keeping my leg in place.
My other foot comes up instinctively, but before I can thrash properly, she presses her hand down, just above the wound, and shoves me back.
"Christ—" I grit my teeth, breathing hard. "Are you trying to fix my leg or sever the damn thing?"
She glares at me, but there's colour in her cheeks now. "If I wanted to take it off, I'd have let the Bandersnatch do it."
Her hands move again—quick, firm, too efficient. But there's something else. Something in the way she's touching me. Each brush of her fingers against my skin feels deliberate, charged. Like she's trying not to notice it too.
And that's when I realise—
She's not wrapping my leg. She's not tying the cloth at all.
Her fingers press against my skin, just above the wound, and for the first time, Alice doesn't hesitate. She doesn't argue. She doesn't question whether she can.
She just does.
She's using her magic, and no one told her to. No one forced her.
And somehow, that—that simple act—feels bigger than either of us. So I shut my mouth and watch her, trying to ignore how my body responds to every touch.
Alice presses her hand to my thigh, just beside the wound. Her fingers tremble for half a second before she stills them, her jaw tightening, focus narrowing. The determined set of her mouth shouldn't be distracting. It is.
The heat starts subtle, barely there. Then it spreads—slow, pulsing beneath her palm, sinking deeper. The fire in my leg doesn't disappear, but it shifts. The sharp, unbearable edge dulls, fading into something manageable.
I let out a breath, sinking into whatever the hell she's doing. Into her touch. I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, and with every exhale, the pain pushes further away.
Then Alice pulls her hands back, and the warmth vanishes. My eyes snap open, missing her touch before I can stop myself.
"What?"
She's frowning. No, not frowning—scowling. At me? At her hands?
"It doesn't work." She shakes her head, frustration tightening her features.
She looks bloody gorgeous when she's angry, which is not what I should be noticing right now.
"I don't even know why I thought it would.
You all keep saying I have magic. I keep telling you I don't." Her voice wavers, just slightly, before she sets her jaw.
"I should believe that. I do believe that. But I thought maybe..."
She trails off, shoving her hands into her lap like she's disgusted with herself. I hate seeing that look on her face.
I lift my leg, testing it. Pain lances beneath my skin, but it doesn't knock the breath out of me like before.
Alice catches the movement and glares. "Put your leg down."
She reaches for the cloth she tore from her dress, and this time, she actually starts wrapping it.
"It feels better," I say, watching her face.
She scoffs. "You're just saying that."
"I don't lie." Not to you, I almost add, but catch myself.
Alice shoots me a glare but doesn't say anything, just keeps working.
Her fingers brush against my skin as she winds the fabric around my leg, each touch sending sparks through my blood.
The wound is still there, raw, gaping, the deep indent of teeth marks carved into my flesh.
But the pain isn't as sharp as it should be.
It looks worse than it feels, and I know that's down to her, whether she believes it or not.
She pulls the fabric tight, tying it off with a firm knot. It's solid, secure. I don't flinch this time, too focused on how close she is, how her breath ghosts across my skin.
"I don't think you're going to be able to walk on that," she mutters, not meeting my eyes.
"Let me try."
I grip the rock beside me, using it to push myself up, keeping my leg as straight as I can.
The fabric is tight, holding everything in place, but it makes movement stiff, difficult.
Alice moves in beside me, sliding her arm under my shoulder, steadying me.
The press of her body against mine is distracting.
She takes on some of my weight, no hesitation, no complaint.
My leg trembles under the strain, but it holds. And the pain I expect—blinding, unbearable—doesn't come.
Alice stays close, her body tensed like she's ready to catch me if I fall. I won't. I refuse. But having her this near makes focusing on anything else a challenge.
I nod once. "It's good."
"Do you think you can walk?"
I have to. It's not a question of whether I can—there's no choice. We have to get up that path, get to whatever the hell is waiting for us at the top. The amulet is there. That's all that matters. Even if every step with her pressed against me is its own kind of torture.
I take a step, then another, bracing for pain that doesn't come. The wound is still there, deep and torn, but it doesn't burn the way it should. Alice watches me, concern poorly hidden behind her irritation. My leg holds, and I push forward.
Alice bends, picking up the sword. The movement draws my attention.
The weapon she holds isn't the makeshift blade I shoved between the Bandersnatch's jaws. That was just wood, a broken branch with a sharpened edge. But this—this is something else entirely.
Dark steel, perfectly balanced. The hilt fits her hand like it was made for her. Power radiates from the blade, something old, something dangerous. Something that matches the glint in her eyes.
I've seen a lot of weapons in my time. None have ever looked so right in someone's hands.
And she doesn't give it back. Of course she bloody doesn't.
Alice keeps the sword, hooking it into the belt of her dress. It's not a proper sheath, not even close, but it holds well enough. My fingers twitch, ready to protest, but she beats me to it.
"I don't think you're in a fit state to fight," she says, not even looking at me as she picks up my knife. The ghost of a smile plays at her lips.
She holds out the smaller blade, the metal catching what little light there is. A fraction of the weapon she's keeping for herself.
I take it with a scoff. "The princess and the pirate, and I get the little dagger?"
She shrugs, and damn if she doesn't look pleased with herself. "It's what you brought to the fight." Then, arching a brow, "Are we heading up that path, or arguing about armoury?"
I let out a breath, rolling my shoulders. My leg still holds. That's all that matters. That, and maybe the way she's still hovering close enough that I can feel her warmth.
"Fine," I mutter. "But if I die, I'm coming back to haunt you."
"You'd be rubbish at haunting," she says, but there's something soft in her voice that makes my chest tight.