18
Finn
All night long I dream of fire. Of drakons. Of the terrified look on Soleil’s face just before I reached her.
It’s an uneasy, restless sleep, only made better by the touch of gentle hands; by the sound of a soft, familiar voice; by threads of magick keeping me on just this side of the abyss of pain that threatens to drag me down into its depths.
When dawn breaks, that pain is still there, but it’s been kept at bay.
A fierce ache, yes, but not the all-consuming agony that washed over me before I fell into an unconscious stupor.
I blink awake in the low light of the tent, and my back isn’t the only thing that aches.
A deep stab of longing in the center of my chest only eases when I turn my head and see my witch hasn’t left me.
She’s been right here this whole time, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out and laying my fingers over hers.
Soleil’s eyes flick open, brilliantly green even in the dim of early morning.
“Finn.” Her voice is thin and raspy, and it brings another hazy memory to mind.
My witch, taking charge. The firm command of her voice as she ordered the entire camp about, making sure I got the care I needed.
The warmth of that memory is immediately chased away when I realize…
Why is she sleeping against the wall?
My mind is sluggish, but sharp enough for a wave of guilt to pass through me.
She doesn’t look very comfortable, and there’s no reason for her to be so far away when there’s plenty of room here next to me on the—
“Let me look at your back.”
Though all my muscles protest, I shift a little so she can get better access. Lying belly-down on my bedroll in the confined space, with my wings tucked in tight, the angle is awkward. But Soleil makes it work as she kneels next to me and pulls away the compress covering my wounds.
She lets out a satisfied hum. “Better. This looks better.”
For the next few minutes, Soleil diligently inspects me. She brews up another compress and secures it against my back. When she’s done, she draws back to settle a couple feet away from me, and I bite back a dissatisfied growl at losing the warmth of her beside me.
She looks exhausted.
Deep shadows under her eyes. Her hair falling in tangled disarray. A weariness etched deep into her lovely face.
And something else.
A deep thread of grief and regret, which comes rasping out in her next words.
“I really am sorry, Finn. More than I can say. It was careless, leaving like that. I’m an idiot and I never should have—”
“Hey, sunshine, it’s alright.”
I didn’t mean for that to slip out.
The nickname.
Sunshine, of all things.
It’s been hard not to consider Soleil my own personal luminary since she told me what her name means.
Since before that, really, from the very first moment I saw her.
But that doesn’t mean I need to say it out loud and make her uncomfortable.
Soleil goes quiet, but after a few moments the corners of her lips quirk up in a small, wry smile.
“Sunshine, huh?”
“Yeah. Sunshine.”
“Because of my winning personality? My sunny disposition?”
Goddess, I love when she teases me.
“If I said yes?” Unable to help myself, I nudge my tail around her waist, draw her a little closer.
Her fingers ghost over the length of it where it settles at her hip, and I have to fight a shiver of pleasure.
“Then I’d call you a liar.”
“I’d never lie to you, sunshine.”
For a few long moments, we’re both silent. Eyes locked, her fingers still caressing my tail, the birds outside just beginning their morning song.
“You called me that last night, too,” Soleil says quietly. “I don’t know if you remember.”
“I don’t remember a lot of details from last night,” I admit. “But I do remember a few things.”
“Like what?”
“I remember you taking charge. I remember the feel of your magick taking away the pain.”
Her eyes drop to her hands. “That was probably just the painkillers I gave you.”
“Hey.” I wait until she looks at me again. “It wasn’t just that. It was you. I know it was.”
Her face flushes in a way I’m beginning to realize means she likes something she hears. Also perhaps that she doesn’t feel she deserves to hear it, but we’ll work on that.
Goddess, I hope we have the opportunity to work on it.
I hope Soleil gives me time to tell her all the things I admire about her, years for us to discover more about each other, years for her to grow weary of hearing me sing her praises.
She glances toward the door, and I can almost hear the silent calculations in her mind.
It’s morning.
I’m no longer at risk of dying.
She could probably go back to her own tent and get some rest instead of sitting here uncomfortably against the canvas wall.
“Come lie down. You must be exhausted.”
For a moment, my witch seems like she might fight me. She hesitates, with a furrowed brow and a small frown, looking me up and down as if she’s still judging how injured I am.
“You won’t hurt me,” I tell her, and she lets out a soft laugh, some of that worry melting away. “In fact, I’d wager you joining me here would do just the opposite.”
That earns me a smile.
Just the ghost of one, the slightest curling of her lip, but enough for her to capitulate.
Slowly, carefully, she lowers herself onto the bedroll next to me—flat on her back with her arms straight by her sides.
“This is how you sleep?” I tease her. “You look about as comfortable as a corpse in a coffin.”
“No corpse jokes, please,” she grumbles. “Not after what happened last night.”
I must look properly chagrined, because she sighs and rolls onto her side, tucks an arm beneath her head, and cuddles further into the bedroll.
It’s an improvement.
Not great, but an improvement.
I’d rather be on my side, with my witch’s back tucked up against my chest, my arm around her waist, all those raven curls tickling my nose and that glorious backside of hers pressed against my—
“Better,” I say, banishing those thoughts. “You’re comfortable?”
She nods and shifts closer, until the edge of the arm she’s laying on presses to my shoulder.
Not much, but a little, and even that small point of contact makes the bond in my chest sing.
I reach for the furs that tangled around my legs while I was sleeping and draw one over her. I’m still a little feverish—or maybe the fire inside me is just a natural consequence of having my mate so near—but no matter the reason, my mate needs the warmth more than I do.
She snuggles beneath them, lets out a breathy little sound of pleasure, and looks so damned adorable that my heart aches in my chest.
Goddess, I enjoy looking at her.
Even here, when the light’s so low I can barely make out her features properly, and I’m still half-delirious with medicine and the lingering effects of my injuries.
I could fall asleep with this view every single night.
In the cover of the morning’s dim, I dare.
Reaching out the arm I have closest to her, I drape it over her middle. And when she doesn’t protest, I tug her closer to me.
It’s still a little awkward given how I have to position myself to accommodate my injuries, but having her beside me is exquisite.
“What are you wearing?” I grumble when my hand brushes over the thick, coarse material of her pants. “These don’t seem very comfortable.”
Her shoulders shake with silent laughter. “I am not going to take off my pants.”
“Really, I wouldn’t mind if you—”
“Not going to happen.”
I sigh dramatically, and it ends in a yawn as exhaustion catches back up to me. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
For the next few minutes, I bask in the feeling of having her here, with me. I count each of her breaths, marvel at the wonder of her, at least until I know I’m about to slip back under, and one last thought comes to mind.
“You did something,” I say, already losing my battle against the sleep lowering my heavy lids. “With your magick. Something that went beyond the salve you used for my burns.”
It’s impossible to forget the touch of that magick, her magick, the powerful but gentle threads of it stitching me back together. No matter how out of it I was, I remember at least that much.
Soleil hums thoughtfully, relaxes further into me, and that small show of trust does almost as much to make me feel better as her healing did.
“I don’t do it often,” she admits. “Only in… dire cases. Pulling that kind of power always knocks me on my ass.”
A small, unhappy grunt escapes my chest. “You shouldn’t have done it, then. There’s no reason to put yourself in harm’s way for—”
“Finn.”
Damn, I like the sound of my name on her lips.
Even when she’s arguing with me.
“One thing you need to know about me is I’m stubborn as hell when it comes to my own judgment on healing.
I know what I’m doing and I know what I can withstand.
” She brushes the tips of her fingers up and down the arm I have wrapped around her.
“And what I did last night? I would do it a hundred times over and never regret it.”
Warmth floods through me.
And frustration.
Along with a bit of shame.
My mate should not have had to put herself in that position for me.
She should never have been in danger.
I should have made sure she was always safe here. In my realm. On my watch.
“I can… feel that,” she says softly.
“Feel what?”
“Your… anger? Frustration? I don’t know. Whatever emotion you were feeling just now.”
“Can you?”
Soleil nods.
I’ve always heard witches are a little slower to pick up on the bond than demons are. Perhaps because it’s something that doesn’t exist in their realm, because it’s not a natural phenomenon there like it is for demonkind.
Whatever the reason, it’s surprising to hear she can already read me that well.
But perhaps I should have expected it from my clever, clever witch who can heal with such unimaginable skill, and whose magick no doubt attunes her well to others’ bodies and spirits.
“I’m not angry,” I murmur, powerless to stop the rising tide of sleep. “Just sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she whispers. “And don’t worry, either. Not right now. You need rest.”
“So do you.” The words come out in a mumble, and the last thing I feel before slipping into dreamland is the press of soft lips on my forehead.
“Okay. I’ll rest. But only if you do, too.”
Deal, I mean to tell her, but don’t get the chance before the world around me fades.