“I’m okay,” I say, mostly to reassure myself. “But I need food.”
A heavy blanket is tossed over me. The smell of earth and grass fills my nose as the soothing energy of life filters through my skin. I blink back the burning pain, and my eyes start working again. I lift a hand to touch my chest, feeling the seared skin as it unwinds and smooths out once more, the life around me healing it, and I realize that the blanket is made of growing things, dirt in the weaving having grown emerald sprouts. Sprouts that are slowly curling in on themselves and dying.
“Holy Dagda, Faelan,” Aelia says. She’s tucking the blanket around my lap. “You are such a male—you almost sucked face with her! Seriously. She could’ve melted you to the bone.”
“I’m fine,” I say again.
“Yes, yes,” Lailoken says with a laugh. “Fine indeed, young buck.”
“Oh gods, this is nuts,” Aelia says. “You could’ve been killed.”
“Mr. Winter can contain the flame just fine,” Lailoken says. “It’s been written that way from the beginning. Hasn’t it, Mr. Winter?”
“Stop calling him that!” Aelia growls.
A groan comes from the demi beside me, and we all focus on her again. She grips her head like she’s in pain.
“We need to get her back to the Cottages as soon as possible,” I say.
“You should feed more first,” Aelia says, eyeing me. “While we’re here in the wood.”
The wise man starts clanging his bottles, looking for something. “Pishposh, the boy is stone. His bones are solid as iron.”
“I’m grand, Aelia,” I say. And surprisingly it’s true—or at least mostly true. I’m not hurt or drained as much as I should be. “I can rest later, but we need to get the demi to where she can be guarded better.” I’m relieved Sage is with us, relieved that she’s back, but I want to keep it that way.
She’s gone silent, curled in the fetal position on the dead clover where we were just lying side by side. Her chest gently rises and falls; the skin at her neck is scarred a little from Kieran’s stupidity. But her cheeks are rosy, and she’s peaceful.
My gut tightens, thinking of her body pressed against mine. It was all of ten seconds, but there was something about the moment—something I don’t want to think about—that I can’t have in my life. I clear my throat and reach for my torque, then my shirt, pulling them back on, trying to distract myself. I need to stay focused.
“But!” the wise man says. “You will bring this flame back to me soon.” He sounds surprisingly normal. And while he was irritated by Sage’s presence when we first got here, he now seems to be looking at her with a strangely protective eye. I wonder what’s changed. He picks up one of the bottles and holds it out to me, shaking it in my face. “Give her this in her tea tomorrow morning, yes, yes, and don’t leave her alone when she sleeps. Be ever so very careful with her. It’s what you’ve been called to. And as we know, flames need tending always, to keep them from being snuffed out—or devouring the fields.” He laughs like he finds himself hilarious.
I take the bottle from him and slip it into my pants pocket. “Thank you for your help, sir. Truly.” I squat down beside the sleeping demi and pick her up, cradling her in my arms again as I rise. She actually feels heavier. Or maybe I’m just more drained than I thought.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Aelia asks me.
“Let’s go.” I head for the door, shifting Sage in my arms. She’s definitely heavier, and her arm feels less bony against my chest.
Lailoken opens the door with a wave of his hand. “Toodle-oo!”
As Aelia and I step back out into the clearing, the door slams behind us.
TWENTY
SAGE
Something moves against my arm. My mind surfaces from sleep in a rush, awareness filtering in. The feel of soft pillows under me, the smell of soil, of damp green things—it’s soothing and lovely.
I open my heavy eyelids, but everything is blurry. I can’t see right. Am I still in the alley? No, it smelled like soot and smog there, and nothing was comfortable.
Memories appear like cloudy puzzle pieces: the creatures slinking from the puddles, the dark-haired guy, he . . . he—cut my neck!
I sit up in a rush, hand going to my neck where the strange raven guy was gripping me. Am I in a forest? I’m surrounded by trees. And under my fingertips there’s a thin bumpy line of skin on my neck—a scar?
Faelan told me about a dark prince, and I laughed, I thought it was so funny, that Faelan was crazy, or I was crazy, someone had to be crazy, because guys called the Dark Prince are only in books and movies that nerds like Ziggy talk about. They’re vampires or wizards, and that stuff is . . . well, it’s totally real apparently, so I’m just—holy shit, how can I be okay after what that raven guy did? My blood was on his face. I died! I know I did, I remember—
Something moves beside me again, stopping my tirade of thoughts.
I turn and blink at a shirtless Faelan, who’s lying next to me, his eyes beginning to open. His body is only a foot away. He’s so . . . wow. I must’ve been too panicked yesterday to fully take in all those muscles. And that tan. And, oh my, he has a lot of scars on his chest . . .
He props himself on his elbows, brow furrowed in concern. “Is something wrong?”
I open my mouth, but no words manage to come out. Why am I in bed with him? I look around and realize we’re not in a forest; we’re in his room. I’m in that nest thing where he was naked and snuggly with Aelia’s friend. How did I get here, and why isn’t he wearing a shirt?
I look down at myself, relieved to see I’m wearing a tank top and pajama shorts. But how did I get into them? “Where’s my dress?” I ask stupidly. I should be asking how I’m alive. I should be asking how I got from the alley to here.
He sits up all the way and moves closer. “Your dress had too much blood on it. I had to toss it in the bin.”
“Blood?” I know what he means, but my mind is having trouble processing. I was covered in blood. But I’m still alive.
“Do you remember anything that happened?” He studies me.
His intense green eyes make me shift farther away. Grass tickles my palm as I grip the side of the nest. I shake my head. “I remember a guy—or a raven—he was a raven that turned into a guy? I think he tried to kill me, but . . .” I touch my neck again. “I don’t understand what happened.”
Faelan’s gaze follows my fingers. “You were hurt. I’m sorry about the scarring. The wound was open too long for it to heal properly.”
“How am I not dead right now?” Because I know beyond a doubt I should be. But I don’t even have stitches or bandages. Just a scar?
“As a demi, your spirit anchors to your flesh more firmly than a human’s does. Thankfully, despite your unpredictable nature, your spirit held even after your body gave out, longer than normal. Hopefully, you won’t be dying for a dozen centuries or more.”
I bark out a laugh. And another. But then my throat clogs and tears spring into my eyes.