Dane answered, “You passed out.”
I sat up like a shot, ignoring my brain sloshing around in my head. I stared off into the corn, thinking of Katia stepping over all those bodies. How heartbroken she was. Aiyana betrayed her trust, bringing Coronado to Quivira. And when Coronado threatened to kill her people, her followers, she felt she had no choice. Katia enraptured the corn to protect them. I felt her breathing life and death into the fields, like the corn was an extension of her body.
“The smoke must have gotten to you. It happens,” Brennon said.
“Here, this might help.” Dane passed a bottle to me, but he didn’t make eye contact. I noticed a deep scratch on the left side of his neck. He adjusted his collar when he caught me staring at it.
I took a drink that burned all the way down my throat. I wanted to play it cool, but my face contorted involuntarily. “What is this stuff?”
“Rye.” Dane leaned into me, his shoulder grazing mine, which sent a flood of warmth through my entire body. “Neil Hanratty makes a batch every year for the solstice. I swear each batch gets stronger.” He coaxed the bottle away from me and took a deep swig.
I kept waiting for him to send some kind of signal, but he gave me nothing. I wondered if he’d forgotten that he’d agreed to take me into the corn; maybe I dreamt the entire thing.
I snatched it back and took another drink, not because I wanted more, but because his lips had just touched the bottle. I wanted to capture his warmth, his kiss. And then I wanted to slap myself for being such a tool.
Feeling dizzy, I fell back onto the blankets.
As Brennon reached out to take my hand, I flinched.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I answered with a forced smile. “I’m just still a little out of it.”
Lauren passed our campfire, staring daggers into me.
Brennon got to his feet, smiling sheepishly as he brushed grass from his trousers. “I’m going to find you some water. A girl can’t live on grain alcohol alone.”
When he left, I sat up and looked at Dane expectantly.
“Patience,” he whispered as he stared ahead into the fire.
I looked down at his hands holding the bottle and I couldn’t stop thinking about his thumb stroking my hip bone and the feel of his scarred skin beneath my fingertips. I closed my eyes, hoping the sensation of the wind rushing over my sunburned shoulders would give me some reprieve from him, but he was everywhere. His scent. His movement. His breath. I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame—only in it for the burn.
The wooden sculpture creaked and groaned, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Now,” Dane whispered as he got up and walked away from the camp.
As the sculpture collapsed into a heaping pile of embers, I followed Dane to the edge of darkness—and never looked back.
28
TORN
DANE WAS STANDING before the corn.
Without looking at me, he held out his hand behind him.
I laced my fingers through his; that euphoric warmth spreading across my skin.
“Don’t let go,” he whispered.
He stepped forward and the stalks parted as if he’d brought the summer breeze.
I braced myself for the electric current to hurl me back into oblivion, but he pulled me right along with him.
The hazy glow from the torches lining the inner perimeter did little to combat the darkness of the field. Our footsteps were muffled, and the corn around us seemed to lack dimension. It felt as though we’d stepped into another world.
I tightened my grip around his fingers. Even here, surrounded by unknown danger at every turn, I couldn’t stop thinking about his skin against mine.
Gradually, the row widened, so we could walk side by side. He brushed his other hand along the stalks.
“What do you feel?” I asked.
The muscles in his shoulders tensed, like my question caught him off guard.
“When you touch the corn.”
“I guess it’s an energy. If you listen closely it almost sounds like it’s breathing.”
He was right. The air moved through the stalks like rhythmic breath—in and out—out and in.
“It must be hard keeping a secret like this.”
“We all keep secrets.” His eyes settled on me, and my blood seemed to shimmer in my veins.
A long silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Something about being here with him, in this moment, felt serene, like nothing could touch us.
“I’ve been thinking about something you said last night . . .”
I waited for him to ask what it was, but he remained focused on the path in front of us.
“You asked why I wanted to go in the corn.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “At first, I thought it was just to find a way to stop the ritual—but what if this is what my mom and dad want? Maybe there’s a way for Katia and Alonso and Nina and Thomas to all be together—to coexist.”
Dane looked at me with a soft, puzzled expression. “How much did you drink?”