Kinked (Elder Races, #6)

He squeezed her fingers and fell into darkness.

Liquid gold trickled down his raw, burned throat. He swallowed reflexively once, twice, then erupted into coughing, and that hurt so bad it brought him back awake.

“Goddammit,” somebody said miserably. “It’s all about you again, isn’t it? Wake up and drink this right now, do you hear me? I hurt so bad, and I’m so tired, and all I want is another hug from you, AND YOU CAN’T DIE ON ME, QUENTIN, BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE THE FINAL FUCKING STRAW! I SCREWED UP MY WINGS EVEN MORE TO SAVE YOUR LIFE, YOU ROTTEN SON OF A BITCH. PARAGLIDING IS A STUPID IDEA, AND I’M DONE, I’LL BE SO DONE IF YOU DIE! DONE!”

It was definitely something, to have a harpy throw a screaming shit fit in your face. Just about enough to wake the dead. Her powerful lungs drove each word like a railroad spike into his head. It was like the worst hangover ever times a thousand.

He whispered, “I know I’ve already bought you, but do you by any chance come with a snooze button?”

“Shut up,” she sniveled. “You suck. Drink the rest of this.” Her ragged breathing sounded in his ear as she lifted his head with one trembling hand and nudged his lips with the rim of a small bottle.

Half-conscious as he was, he still remembered how precious that bottle was, and he closed his lips firmly around it so that none of the liquid could escape. She tilted the bottle, and he drank the contents down.

Power glided into his body and started to supernova. She held another bottle to his mouth, and he drank that too, then a third, as quickly as he could just before an upsurge of pain hit.

It ran over him like a steamroller, the Power of the healing potions working through his body to repair extensive damage. It might save his life if it didn’t kill him first. His lungs felt like they had been pumped full of napalm, and he arched his back as he struggled to breathe. For years afterward, he would wake up from nightmares of drowning and suffocation.

Aryal bent over him, supporting him as best she could with one arm as she laid her cheek against his good one, whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t fight so hard, it’ll pass in a moment. It’s going to be okay.”

Shuddering, he concentrated on the sound of her voice until finally the pain began to recede, and he sagged against her. His lungs still felt raw and tender, but he no longer felt like he was smothering.

Vision began to return to his healing eye, and as he looked up at her, she came halfway in focus. At some point she had ditched her breastplate, and he rested against her torso. Her gaze was hollowed out again, and she looked beyond exhausted. Her sleeveless tunic was torn, and she was filthy, sandy and still covered in blood. Underneath the blood at her shoulder, her skin looked purple with a gigantic bruise.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said.

Her eyebrows rose as she gave him the ultimate in skeptical looks. “You need more healing potion,” she told him. She picked up another small bottle and raised it to her mouth to bite out the cork.

He grabbed her wrist. “Wait, how many was that again? We only had five each.”

“I drank one. One of the shadow wolves tagged me and I wouldn’t stop bleeding,” she said. Her voice was beginning to slur. “I had to set my broken leg first. Nothing I could do about the wings. They’re so messed up, just, whatever.”

The exhausted hopelessness in that made his heart constrict. She had taken so much damage, one potion would have barely taken the edge off of it, just enough to start the healing process again on that bite wound. “You need that one too.”

“No.” She bit out the cork. “You do, because you’re the one-trick pony guy, right? You get better, and then you can help me.”

She made sense. As he got stronger, he could help her with at least some basic healing. Reluctantly he let go of her wrist. “Yeah, okay.”

She held the bottle up to him, and he drank. Fiery pain started to build again, as the Power in the potion forced injuries to heal. Healing potion could only do so much. The rest was up to the body’s resources, but it could sometimes mean the difference between life and death, and it was a strong step forward.

“So you’re alive now,” Aryal mumbled. “Okay then.”

Her arm loosened from around him, and he caught himself on one elbow as he spilled out of her hold. He twisted around to find that she had slumped over in the sand.

His overworked heart thumped. He reached to check her pulse, and while it raced too fast, it beat strongly against his fingers. Relief spun in his head. This trip had aged him something like twenty years.