CHAPTER 8 #3
She ducked underneath Sebastian’s other arm, and braced her shoulder against his side.
They staggered towards the exit together, Jax’s water crashing ahead of them, Morra’s earth coiling around them protectively.
She could feel the heat coming off Sebastian, could smell the scorched cloth as well as burnt flesh.
He ran into fire for me.
They pushed through the gap, and tumbled into the open air.
Kara vaguely heard the crowd applauding as she dropped to the ground, coughing hard.
Sebastian sank down beside her, his breaths laboured, his hands trembling violently.
He must have been in agony but he didn’t make a sound.
The knowledge made her reach for him again.
He jerked away as though her touch burned worse than the fire. “Don’t.”
“Sebastian–”
He didn’t let her finish. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t. They both knew it. But something in his face – shame, or pride, or both – made her step back.
He doesn’t want to need help. Especially not from me.
“Is that everyone?” Gregor asked.
“Think so,” Sienna said.
A voice boomed across the arena.
“Time’s up! Team Four please leave the arena. Scores will be announced shortly.”
Sebastian stood, albeit shakily, and walked away without another word.
The assistant hurried over and directed the rest of them away, back towards another tent – a healers’ one. Morra fussed over Sebastian’s injury as they walked, but he brushed her off.
“I’m fine, Morra. I’ll get them bandaged in the tent,” he said through gritted teeth. He kept his palms out of her reach.
“Sebastian–”
“Leave me be,” he said shortly.
Morra passed Kara muttering, “Thornes.”
Tell me about it.
But he was a swordsman – his hands were everything.
They needed proper healing, not rough bandages and Thorne pride.
Once they were out of sight of the crowd and the others had gone ahead towards the healer’s tent, Kara slowed her pace to fall in step beside Sebastian.
He was lagging behind, staring straight ahead, jaw clenched tight.
That beam would’ve crushed me. And now he’s in agony.
She needed to thank him. But words felt inadequate.
So she’d make him accept her help. Heal his hands properly.
It was the least she could do. This time, her magic surged on her will, determined.
It moved through the space between them, wrapping around his burnt palms. Green against blackened skin.
She wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. He stopped abruptly.
“Kara, what are you–”
“Healing you,” she said sharply.
He opened his mouth – probably to argue, to order her to stop, to tell her he was fine like he told everyone else.
“If you think I’m going to leave you like this after what you just did for me,” she said, cutting him off, “you’d be very wrong.”
She stepped closer, taking the unburnt part of his wrist gently in her hand. “You either let me do it now, or I’ll wait until you pass out from the pain and heal you anyway. Your choice.”
His mouth snapped shut. Something shifted in his expression – he didn’t try to pull away again.
Just fell silent and let her work. He exhaled with a low groan and looked down at her.
And when their eyes met, her heart faltered.
Something sparked in her chest, low and unmistakable, and her stomach fluttered madly.
Oh no.
He looked away. So did she. Focused on the burns.
They had been so deep she felt it in her own hands as she healed, her palms feeling hot and tight.
Finally, the heat fully receded from his skin.
As it did, his crimson flared up to meet hers, winding around her emerald glow.
His strength surged through her, and with it came that unsettling recognition.
The same impossible belonging from the river – the one that didn’t fit with the four days she’d known him.
It occurred to Kara that she was supposed to let go.
After one more heartbeat, she forced herself to release him, her emerald dimming, then fading completely. His crimson vanished with it.
What the hell is happening?
His eyes had darted down at the sight, but his face gave nothing away. His palms were dark pink now, the skin fresh but raw. Not fully healed but... good enough. He would be able to use them again. Grip a sword. He flexed them once, testing the movement.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Kara,” he said, but he didn’t sound angry.
Her gaze dropped to his forearms – sleeves singed and pushed back.
Saw his battle scars. Some old, some not, and so many.
Her magic stirred; aching to fix them. She wanted to fix them.
But he’d never let her. And after that? She didn’t dare.
She had no idea what her magic would do around him anymore.
She met his gaze calmly. “You’re welcome,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard his objection at all. He watched her for a long moment. Then, so quietly she almost missed it, he murmured, “Thank you.”
It wasn’t sarcastic. Wasn’t grudging. Just... honest.