He’s so close. His fangs flashing, reaching for me, to choke the life out of me—
Kiaran grabs the wraith by the throat and with a swift jerk of his hand, snaps her neck. Gasping, I stare at the wraith’s slouched, lifeless form as I draw my powers back inside me. I ignore the pounding headache at my temples and stare at Kiaran, but he won’t look at me.
He doesn’t have to.
To my left, the cave wall begins to crumble as easily as dried mud to reveal a portal. Small bits of stone splash around us. I swat at the water in my face, braced for another fight—for the Morrigan to return. But through the portal, all I see is a forest below the magnificent stars of a night sky. A way out of the cave.
Just beyond the line of dark trees, I swear I see a glimpse of a girl with long hair and pale skin silhouetted against the moonlight.
But when I look again, she’s gone.
CHAPTER 29
OUTSIDE THE cave, the forest towers high with trees as thick and dark as soot-covered columns. A bright full moon hangs high, the light illuminating the tops of the branches in a dusky, glowing haze. I tilt my head back at the cool breeze, shivering a bit in my wet clothes.
Who was that girl?
“Did you see . . .” My voice trails off when I glance over at Kiaran.
His breathing is slow and steady, as if he’s counting the seconds to calm himself down. He lifts a trembling hand to push back his hair. “See what?” His rolling accent is uneven.
“Nothing. Never mind.” I press my lips together, uncertain what to say. “Should we go through the forest?” I ask instead. “Won’t the Morrigan find us easily here?”
“Even the Morrigan would have to recover from an attack like that,” he says. “Taking physical form would have required a great deal of power. We’ll use the opportunity to rest.” Kiaran tosses me his coat. “Here. There’s a roll of bread for you in the inner pocket. You need to eat something.”
The bread is wrapped in leaves that kept it dry. I gratefully murmur my thanks that Kiaran is so practical. Between the Morrigan’s attacks and worrying over the Book, I didn’t even notice how famished I was.
Kiaran gathers wood for a fire and I light it with my powers. A small bit of energy I’m willing to risk because I’m so bloody tired and I’ve never seen Kiaran look this rough, either.
Now you know how I feel, I think wryly as I move to sit near the flames. No invulnerable, shining fae skin. No immediate healing. Just the deep bone-tiredness of mortality.
Kiaran sits opposite, as far from me as possible. The scent of burning wood must mask the scent of my blood, at least a little. His eyes flicker to me in a quick, controlled assessment. “Your wounds need binding.”
I can’t help but smile. “First the bread, now my wounds. Is this the Kiaran MacKay way of fussing over someone?”
“I don’t fuss,” Kiaran says. “I give stern instructions, like: Bind your goddamn wounds.”
“I don’t like overbearing men.”
His mouth quirks into a sly smile. “And yet I love assertive, stubborn women.”
I laugh in surprise. “God, I adore you.”
I ease my coat from my shoulders to check my injuries. There are a few superficial scratches down my arms. The deepest ones, along my shoulders, will need stitching. But I don’t have the luxury of such things now. All I have for dressing my wounds is the fabric from my coat. Brocade isn’t exactly ideal, but anything is better than bleeding out.
As I peel the sopping coat the rest of the way off, Kiaran’s sharp voice startles me. “Burn it.”
I glance up in shock. “I beg your pardon?”
“Burn. The. Coat.” This time he says the words through his teeth. “Wear mine to cover up your scent. I can smell your blood and it’s driving me mad.” Then he says something I never would have expected in a thousand years: “Please.”
Please. In all the time I’ve known Kiaran, he has never, ever said that. Along with Sorry, I assumed it wasn’t in his vocabulary.
But there it is, the word hanging in the air between us, a mark of his desperation. Please. Now I know the way he looked at me in the cave before he killed the Morrigan’s wraith form wasn’t for show. It wasn’t to make the Morrigan think she had won.
She almost had.
“Very well,” I say quietly.
The wraith shredded enough of my coat that it’s easy to tear into strips. I press the longest one over my shoulder, securing it in place with another scrap of material that I knot with my teeth. I do my best to wipe up the blood along my back, scrubbing at it until my skin stings.
Then I toss the remains of my tattered coat into the fire and shrug into Kiaran’s discarded one. It’s so big on me that I have to roll the sleeves up.
I lift my arms with a slight smile. “How silly do I look in this? Be honest now.”
I notice that a little tension leaves his shoulders. “Kam.” He shakes his head with a small laugh. “You’re adorable.”
I grin. “My god. You just called me adorable in the proper context. And here I thought you only used that word for one terrible reason.”
“Second reason, not terrible: You. In that coat. With that smile.”
“What about my definition?” I push to my feet and start around the fire. “You. Me. Cuddling—”
“Don’t.” Kiaran puts a hand out to stop me. I freeze when his pupils dilate. “Don’t,” he says again. “Stay there.”
I keep still as I look him over. How much time do we have until you’re too far gone, MacKay? How long until I can’t see Kiaran anymore?
That’s when I notice the wound on his arm: a long, jagged cut. Deep enough that blood is soaking through his rough wool shirt. The Morrigan probably injured him to help sever his control. With his powers bound, he can’t heal it.
Slowly, I bend to pick up the strips of fabric I left on the ground. “Your arm is bleeding.”
“I’m fine. Your concern isn’t necessary.”
He used to talk to me like that when we hunted together. It was the cold distance of teacher and student, expert and novice. A touch of condescension, a dash of superiority, and it always made me want to beat him over the head with a parasol.
I step toward him and he says my name sharply enough that I stop. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I gaze at him patiently, because I’m going to wrap his goddamn arm if I have to hold him down to do it. “I don’t care what you want. You’ve never experienced blood loss before. And you’re not fine. You’re pale, shaking, and you look like hell.” When he glares at me, I cross my arms. “If you tried to attack me right now, I would wager a tidy sum on me having you on your arse in two seconds flat. Let me tend to that injury, or you risk passing out in a fight. Your choice.”
After a moment’s silence, he nods once. Good. That saves me the effort of finding a branch to beat some sense into him with.
I approach him slowly, my steps careful and even. When his fingers curl into fists, I pause until he relaxes slightly. Then I crouch beside him and put my hand out, palm up. Waiting for permission.
“Is this fine?” I ask, keeping my voice low, steady.