Dead of Winter (The Arcana Chronicles #3)(25)

For the rest of his life.

Which made me need to poison something.

I retracted my budding claws, whispering to Jack, “Brand or not, you’ll always be breathtaking to me.” I tenderly tucked the cover around him, staggered by the love I felt for him.

I’d tried so hard to get over him. Never could. In fact, I’d celebrated when I could go an hour without thinking about him.

But we had so much standing between us. Too little trust, too much danger.

I needed to let him go, to steer him away from all this. Yet all I wanted to do was curl up next to his battered body. . . .

I heard Joules out in the fort, stomping up and down the plankway, making a stink about his missing icon. He’d already insisted on a mandatory hand check for all Arcana.

Had the transfer gone wacky because Selena struck first, starting the attack?

Matthew’s answers to Joules’s heated questions—and mine—hadn’t been in the realm of coherent. The boy had looked done in.

I gazed over at his half of the tent. My chest squeezed when I realized his only belongings in the world were his bug-out bag, a model of some sci-fi alien, and a Mad Libs book.

Beside Jack’s cot? Magazines for different trades: electricians, mechanics, contractors. Under his cot, he’d stored fifths of whiskey, making me wonder if he was still on the wagon. Atop a small desk were maps of this region. He’d been redrawing them to reflect the new landscape.

My gaze fell on Jack’s bug-out bag. I unzipped it and peeked inside. Among all his survival gear, he still had that copy of Robinson Crusoe I’d given him.

And there was the cell phone that had belonged to Brandon, my onetime boyfriend, and Jack’s half brother. Not that it could make a call. Jack had told me he’d constantly sourced power for it—just so he could look at the videos and pictures of me.

I even found the Alchemist’s recording of my life story in a small player.

Surely Jack wouldn’t keep these things with him at all times if he’d moved on from me.

I fished out his envelope of photos. The first night I’d been on the road with him, he’d shown me the contents of his bag, but he hadn’t wanted me to see these.

Turnabout, Jack. I glanced through them, finding nothing bad, just photos of his friends and his mom.

Jack stirred. Was he waking? I stuffed everything back in his pack.

His gray eyes opened. Bloodshot, weary, but so familiar. “Evangeline?” He blinked, as if he couldn’t believe I was with him. “You real? Another dream?” He sounded half-dead.

He and I had been separated for three months. Felt like three years. “I’m here with you.” I took his hand in mine. “You’re safe now.”

With his brows drawn, he rubbed his callused fingers over my skin, like he was testing my realness. “Never thought I’d get free from the twins. Much less see you again.”

“The resident doc patched you up. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“And you’re watching over me? Ma belle infirmière.” My pretty nurse. He’d always loved when I’d fussed over him.

“Before I forget . . .” I drew his rosary from my pocket.

He spared it a brief glance, gaze returning to me. With a hint of his heartbreaking grin, he said, “My prayers already got answered, non?”

I didn’t address that. “Selena found it.” I leaned over and clasped it around his neck.

“Merci.” He peered up at me. “Christ, I missed those blue eyes of yours. Ma fille aux yeux bleus.” My blue-eyed girl. “Didn’t think I’d ever see them again.”

You almost didn’t.

Then he stared at some point past me. “What the hell?”

Cyclops had nosed his head inside the tent flap. “Oh. One of Lark’s wolves is protecting me. Long story. He won’t hurt you.”

Jack looked even more confused.

To distract him, I said, “Hey, when you get back on your feet, you can show me all around this place. Not many guys have their own forts.”

“You can’t leave from here.” His muscles tensed, making him wince. “Promise me you woan leave.”

I had nowhere to go. No home whatsoever. I wanted one though. Fresh from viewing Haven’s ruins, I felt the agonizing lack. “I won’t leave.”

As if that one burst of energy had sapped his remaining strength, his lids grew heavy. “I know . . . what they did . . . to Clotile.”

Curiosity preyed on me. “What, Jack? And what did they do to you?”

He seemed to struggle against sleep with everything in him—“Doan want to take my eyes off you”—but he lost in the end.

Selena had entered the tent and heard the last. I couldn’t read her reaction. Despite Jack’s words, something could’ve happened between him and Selena. I might be the interloper here.

She set Jack’s trusty crossbow on his desk. Since I’d last seen it, he’d modified the weapon, adding a flashlight and painting the auto-loading arrow cartridge.

“Has Joules calmed down yet?” I asked her. “Did he find the culprit?”

“The Tower’s latest farfetched theory? Nanoseconds before his lightning hit, the Priestess somehow swooped in and ‘insta-drowned’ the twins, shoving water into their lungs. He’s furious and plans to go ‘spearfishing’ for her.” Selena frowned. “I wonder if she can be electrocuted.” We could hope. “Matthew’s outside, said he needs to talk to you.”