“I want an answer.”
“Of course I liked you, but I was searching for a cure for the dormant gargoyles. There wasn’t time . . .” My reason was perfectly valid, but telling Marcus to his face that I hadn’t had time for him seemed callous. Besides, after the first few weeks of nonstop searching hadn’t unearthed a cure, I thought I’d already missed my chance with him. A man like Marcus didn’t have to wait around for women, and I’d told myself that whatever he’d seen in me that day in Focal Park wouldn’t have been enough to hold his attention after the excitement died down. His ambivalence toward me on this trip had confirmed my prediction. Except now he acted as if I’d offended him. Had I hurt his feelings?
“Right. I should have realized that,” he said.
“Thank you.” The knot in my stomach eased.
“I mean, why bother making time for a life when you’re so intent on killing yourself?”
He delivered the question in such an understanding tone that it took me a moment to process the words.
“What are you talking about?”
“This. This is what I’m talking about.” He jabbed a finger at me and frustrated disdain replaced all the false sympathy in his expression. “You can barely stand up straight, but you’re ready to rush off to the next danger. You’ve got no regard for your life.”
“That’s nonsense. I’m not trying to kill myself. I’m trying to save lives.”
“Then act like it.”
“What’s that mean?” The wind no longer felt quite so cold, and I shifted from hugging myself to mirroring Marcus’s crossed-arm stance.
“You hunt out ways to throw yourself into danger. You want examples? We’re standing on Reaper’s Ridge—”
“We just defeated Reaper’s Ri—”
“And what about that stunt you pulled in Focal Park?” he asked, his words overpowering mine. “You were so eager to meet death, you practically ran to it.”
“Someone had to break the null.”
His ugly chuckle set my teeth on edge.
“The null. Right. I hadn’t even gotten to that. I was talking about when you split your spirit among five different gargoyles and nearly liquefied your brain. But you just made my point. You think saving others means rushing into every dangerous situation you see—”
“Isn’t that your job?” I shot back, irritated that he made me feel like I needed to defend myself. Of all people, he should understand.
“I’m a Federal Pentagon Defense warrior. I have training. I have full-spectrum strength.”
“So that makes it okay? I’m a guardian. The only guardian these gargoyles have. Of course I’m going to take risks to save their lives.”
“Taking a risk is one thing; swapping your life for a gargoyle’s is another.”
I clenched my jaw. Some people valued human lives more highly than gargoyles’, but I never expected the elitist attitude from Marcus. “Is your ego so fragile that you would have preferred I let gargoyles die so I could have spent time fawning over you?”
“Don’t pretend you believe I’m that shallow.”
“You don’t have a monopoly on being a savior, Marcus. The gargoyles need me. I’m the only person who has a chance at saving them. And you know what? If it means my life—one life—has to be sacrificed to save seven, then so be it.” Hearing my own conviction sent a tremor through my knees, but I didn’t take the words back.
“That’s just it. Being a healer—being a guardian,” he corrected before I could, “doesn’t mean your life is a bargaining chip.”
“It means I’ll do whatever I have to to save the gargoyles.”
“This is why I said no,” he said softly, making me realize we’d been shouting. “You don’t have the good sense to save yourself. And it’s why I said yes, because I couldn’t let you kill yourself without trying to stop you.”
“Are you saying you’re going to try to prevent me from going into the baetyl?” I glanced around, locating Oliver and Celeste. They watched from a few feet away. Celeste’s face was unreadable, but Oliver looked scared.
Marcus shook his head sadly. “No. I’m not stopping you. Just . . .” He rubbed his hand across his mouth and jaw, his stubble rasping audibly in the charged silence. The tension left his shoulders and a pitying look replaced his scowl. “Just think about what I’ve said. The gargoyles don’t need a martyr; they need a guardian and a healer.”
He turned away to rummage in his pack, and I glared at his back. I couldn’t decide what pissed me off more: the fact that he thought the lives of gargoyles weren’t worth as much as mine or that he thought my actions to save them were rash.
Another breeze swept the hillside, and I ground my teeth together to stop their chattering. Every single scrap of me had been soaked, and even though it felt as if my blood were boiling, I wasn’t getting any drier.
“Here,” Marcus said, his voice as flat as his expression. He poured an unmarked packet into a canteen, swished it, then thrust the canteen into my hands. “Drink it all.”
I sniffed the opening and pulled my head back with a grimace when a nauseating odor of brine, algae, and something bitter made my nostrils try to pinch together. “What is it?”
“A stimulant.”
I glanced up at his cold eyes and took a sip, gagged, and doubled over coughing.
“It’s not wine. Chug it. Try not to breathe between drinks and it won’t be so bad.”
Eyes watering, I forced myself to raise the canteen again and took a massive swallow. My throat threatened to close, but I powered through.
Marcus dumped a packet of the pungent powder directly into his mouth. With a band of air, he pulled a water bottle from the sled to his hand, took a gulp, swished, and swallowed. My tongue curled in sympathy for his assaulted taste buds.
“Ugh. I have the breath of a swamp monster,” I muttered. I rubbed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, but it didn’t alleviate the nasty flavor.