Chapter 40
I jerk awake to chattering.
Panic takes me in a clawed grip as a vision of the frilled beast fills my mind. My body surges upright, fear grappling me, and I look around wildly—
But . . . there’s no serpill.
That sound isn’t coming from furred creatures who swim through sand, ready to puncture their prey from skull to spine.
It’s the chattering of teeth.
Piper.
He’s shaking all over, molars chipping away at each other. I press a hand to his forehead and realize he’s consumed with fever.
“Oh no . . .”
It’s still dark, which means I didn’t doze for long.
I spend the next few hours trying to help him. I fan him with my hands, even try to spread mud over his forehead, hoping it will draw up some of the heat from his skin. I have no idea if such a thing even works, but I don’t know what else to do, and a frazzled panic is soaking me with sweat.
“You’re not fighting hard enough!” I chastise between breaths as I blow at his face, trying to use my exhales as a makeshift breeze.
The venom must be wreaking havoc on him, and I have nothing to help.
“Don’t die,” I tell him, my voice louder. Angrier. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like something in me might snap. “Wake up and tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to get rid of the poison!”
“You can’t.”
I gasp, eyes flying up to his. My heart pounds when I realize he’s watching me from beneath half-open lids. Awake.
Coherent.
“Piper!” Lurching up, I grip his cheeks. “You’re awake!”
His brown eyes trace over my face, and he frowns. “Are you crying for me, blight?” His words are laden, thickened, with fever.
I sniff, unable to lie. “Yes. Tell me what I can do. Please.”
“You beg so prettily,” he murmurs. “But I already told you, there’s nothing you can do.”
A tear falls off my chin. “You can’t just die.”
He cocks his head slightly. “Does that make you weep, Estinya?”
“Yes!”
His hand lifts, and I go still when he gently clutches my jaw. “That’s good to know. Better than you saying that you hate me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t hate you,” I admit.
He watches me like there’s nothing else he’d rather look at. It’s such a weighted focus that the heaviness presses against my ribs.
“I was worried you were going to die—that’s why I shouted at you. I shouldn’t have,” he tells me.
Another tear falls as I shake my head. “You saved me,” I assure him.
“Would you give me a kiss, if I asked for it?” he asks quietly, just as his thumb scrapes against my muddied, tear-streaked cheek. “Right here, right now?”
I swallow hard, heart pounding in my ears. “A-a kiss?”
He holds my gaze. His hand spreads up my jaw, and his grip tugs. Gently. Barely there. But I follow. Body tipping, head leaning. He’s dying and he wants a kiss. From me.
He’s waiting.
Asking.
And I feel it all over again—that heat. It boils in my stomach, urging me to lean in.
To taste his lips. To press my tongue between his teeth just as I clamped down on his skin.
My body trembles with this want that I’ve been denying.
That I’ve been rejecting. I can’t ignore it anymore, and I don’t want to.
If he’s about to die, then I want this one raw truth between us, despite so many lies. I want him to know that I don’t hate him. That there is heady, unbelievable attraction. That I want him, despite telling him I don’t.
That there was always something about him that lured me in, far more than just his song.
So, I press my lips to his.
He goes still against me, and the faintest trace of mud soaks through, but the rest of the taste is purely him. My eyes flutter closed, and I fall past the emotions—the reactions. Past the worry and fear and guilt, and even the confusion and anger.
I meet him there, away from all of that, in a closed-eyed kiss, where I can simply feel him.
My mouth parts on an exhale, and he shifts. Hand moving up from my jaw to cradle my head with his thumb behind my ear, fingers splaying so he can tilt me where he wants.
His tongue dives in, tasting, feeling his way through, while mine meets his, skimming together as heat scorches to life.
Burning me up.
He came here and saved me from being devoured, and now, he’s devouring me.
The kiss is locking—a bolt that falls, barring us both inside with the latch that binds us.
Everything else is gone, and the relief of that is consuming. He’s consuming. There is nothing but pleasure and want.
Until he pulls away.
I blearily open my eyes to see the pair of his blazing. Burnt brown and singeing with fiery hunger. “Such a sweet fiend,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against my lip. He leans forward to kiss a tear away, his lips coming back muddy.
My head swims in pleasure, and I know I have just been altered, that this simple kiss was so much more than I can put into words. That I have just been forever changed.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“It’s because of me that you were bitten by that serpill.”
“You’re forgiven,” he replies, dropping his hand.
My eyes well. “How can you forgive me just like that?” I cry. “You’re about to die.”
“Oh, I’m not dying.”
I stiffen. Blink.
Wait.
“What?”
Slowly, a smirk appears. Just a notched-up corner on his tired face, but it tips me off-balance. “I said, I’m not dying.”
I sputter. “But . . . but . . . you told me there was nothing I could do!”
“Yes. There’s nothing you can do but wait it out. If I’d been bitten like that by an adult, I’d have been dead in minutes. But that was just an adolescent. Its venom hasn’t fully come in yet. Fever should burn it out within a few hours.”
I rear back, my eyes wide in shock as the truth rains down. It feels like someone just tossed an ice-cold bucket of water over me.
“You’re not dying?”
His expression dances with mirth. “Not today.”
Relief hits me so hard it takes the breath out of my lungs.
But then the fuming, mortified anger shoulders its way past.
“You . . . you bastard!” I hiss, feeling my cheeks burst with heat. “You lying, immoral, horrible brute!” I shove him as hard as I can, getting a small sense of victory when he winces. “You tricked me!”
“I didn’t trick you,” he has the audacity to say. “You just took my meaning in a different way.”
“Because you worded it like that on purpose!”
My lips are still swollen. Skin still tingling. The taste of him lingers on my tongue, and I liked every second of it. Let myself like it, because I thought he was dying.
It makes me more mutinous.
“You made me kiss you!”
“Made you?” His smirk widens, sinking greedy hands into me and nearly pulling me in. “Don’t start telling lies now. You were very willing.”
“Because I thought you were dying, you absolute ass.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you curse so much.”
“I’m going to be cursing you every time I pray to the Fates!” I seethe.
He cocks his head. “You pray to the Fates? Not many fiends do.”
“Not many people are going to try and smother you in your sleep either, but I’ll do that too.”
He chuckles, but I shove myself to my feet, my emotions swarming. I don’t know if I’m more angry, more relieved, or more shamefully full of hot-blooded craving. I’m too jumbled to sort through it all, but when I turn away, tears start dripping from my eyes, and I drop my face into my hands.
Behind me, I hear him swear, and somehow, he gets to his feet, a grunt of pain escaping him before I feel him in front of me as he grips my arms.
“Let go,” I mumble into my hands.
Of course, he doesn’t listen. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him. I stiffen all over.
He’s . . . holding me.
Hugging me.
I think, in a way, this is even more shocking than the kiss.
His hand comes up to the back of my head, pressing me against his chest, and I find myself sinking into him. Everything built up seems to come spilling out then. It surges like a downpour after a drought, flooding me through as I cry against his chest.
He holds me the entire time. Carefully. Gently. As though I’m something precious.
And even now, caked in blood and sand and mud, he somehow manages to still smell good. To smell like himself. That metallic sugared smoke.
His chin is at the top of my head, his voice quiet. “Forgive me. I was cruel.”
I shudder at his surprising apology and finally drop my hands to look up at him. “Then why did you do it?”
He lets out a sigh. “I knew the venom was going to knock me out. I knew I didn’t have time to explain. And I . . .”
“What?”
He swallows hard, and a page of vulnerability unfolds on his face. “I didn’t want you to leave.” He sounds so exposed that my ire peels away in flakes. Gentles something inside of me, affecting me in a way that makes my chest twinge.
When I pull back to look at him, he takes my hand, lifting it to stroke over my mud-crusted fingernails. He scrapes some of it away on my thumb, showing the stain beneath—amethyst lined in bronze.
“You saved my life,” I tell him, my tone picked apart and splintering.
“You saved mine too. You beheaded that creature before it could land a killing blow.”
A blush blooms over my face. “You’re really going to be okay?”
His expression softens in a way that makes my heart thrum. “Yes. I promise.” He glances down at the mud caked over his wound. “You did well.”
Relief loosens the vise grip around my ribs. “How did you find me?”
“Searched through a few other leylines first,” he admits. “The guards weren’t sure exactly which one you went through. But as soon as I came through this one, I knew you were here.”
I’m lucky he did.
“I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“I just didn’t want you to get hurt,” he tells me. “I was panicked, knowing I’d be unconscious and you’d be unprotected.” His hand lifts, and he takes a piece of my hair, all clumped together with mud. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I reply, but I know that something has shifted between us far more than the latch. It all feels so much more significant than alright.
He looks around. “How did we get back to the mud pools?”
“Carried you. And you’re heavy.”
His brows lift. “You carried me? All the way here?”
I shrug. “It was either that or get eaten by another one of those serpills.”
He watches me, and there’s pride in his eyes that makes me squirm. I pull away, noting how he resists slightly before letting his arms drop.
“How did you know they don’t go near the mud?” he asks.
“I didn’t.”
“Sweet and lucky.”
My stomach swoops at his words. “I’m not sweet.”
“You are,” he counters, without any trace of teasing. He studies my face, like he’s looking for any other stray drops of tears. “Do you feel better?”
I sniff. “No.”
His mouth twitches at my snippish tone. “I think you do. It’s always good to purge yourself of the emotions you’re burdened with. Do you know what else it’s good to purge yourself of?”
“What?”
“Stolen instruments hidden down your dress.”
I freeze.
I’d forgotten about that. He must’ve felt it when he held me.
The cheat.
Luckily, he isn’t angry. Instead, he looks amused. “Shall I delve down that delectably muddy collar of yours, or will you?”
Flustered, I quickly turn around and reach down before ripping up the pipe and handing it over. “Should’ve tossed it into the mud pool,” I grumble.
“I’m far more pleased by this choice.”
Once he takes the pipe and sheathes it at his waist, he steps closer, and I gasp as he takes hold of my chin. He tilts my head up, looking at me with a serious expression. “Estinya.”
My stomach flutters, and I swallow hard. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry for hurting you.”
Surprise filters in at his sober words, and with it, something that spreads a crack in the stone that I’d stacked between us. Warmth pours out between the gaps.
“We’re going to talk when we get back. I want things to be different.”
His tone is full. Brimming. Nearly spilling over with rumbling earnestness. But I don’t know what to say. Don’t even know where to begin. Not with his expression so sincere, so steady. Not with everything that just transpired.
Not with the feel of his kiss still scalding my lips.
I’ve never felt anything like this before, and it seems towering. Like one step in the wrong direction and it will topple over and crush me. But it also feels like I’ve glimpsed him beneath the shadows. That a new light has illuminated what I couldn’t see before.
“Thank you,” he adds quietly, his thumb gliding over my skin in a single stroke before letting go.
I feel the loss of that touch far more than I want to admit.
“For what?” I ask.
His eyes soften. “For staying.”